


cogito ergo sum

by anywherebuthere



Category: The X-Files
Genre: An X-File Case, Angst, F/M, Friendship, Pre-Season/Series 07, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-08
Updated: 2006-03-08
Packaged: 2019-04-28 04:14:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14441196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anywherebuthere/pseuds/anywherebuthere
Summary: A serial killer, someone from the past and a lot of angst push Mulder ans Scully into new places





	cogito ergo sum

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Spooky Awards](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Spooky_Awards), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [SpookyAwards' collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/spookyawards/profile).

NAME: cogito ergo sum  
AUTHOR: Lisa  
CONTACT: **RATING: PG-13**  
CATEGORY: MSR, X-file, ANGST  
DISCLAIMER: not mine, never were, never will be SPOILERS: takes place somewhere in season 7 SYNOPSIS: a new case poses many new challenges for Mulder and Scully 

Comments of any kind are very welcome! 

Prologue 

His knees were starting to hurt from sitting behind the bushes, but the wait was worth it, he hoped. His heart was beating a hundred-and-twelve beats a minute, eight more beats than the last time he checked. A feeling, somewhat reminiscent of having to talk in front of his class, back in fourth grade, occupied his stomach. His watch had deliberately slowed down to an almost unbearable slowness. He looked through the leaves again. No one. A lighting post ten feet away, was the only light near. Two others were broken. The darkness felt like a warm blanket before, but now the warmth became almost too much to bear. It smothered him. He checked his watch again and his heart skipped a beat. The time had come. Barely able to think or breathe he looked at the dimly lit street again. Empty. He lifted his hand up to hold his watch against his ear, the constant ticking both soothing and worrying. The time had come. The blanket fell down upon the floor. A shiver went through his body. Once more he checked the street. The others left 20 minutes ago. Just like she had thought they would. One more deep breath and he got up, his legs tinkling with relief. He walked around the dark house to find the back door open, just like she had thought it would be. The house felt strangely warm after the night air. Warmer than it should be, than it deserved. One at a time he climbed the stairs, with false security about where he was going. The voice got louder. Two more steps and he stood there, a mere foot away from the door. A spoken goodbye was his key. The door swung open and a surprised look welcomed him in. He did his deed with repulsion and anxiety, but a sense of excitement as well. It's too easy, a fleeting thought proclaimed. But he shook it off. He only did what has to be done. A short scribble is all it takes. He wants them to know. 

Chapter 1 

Mulder enters looking positively delighted. He sits down and looks at me with a smug smile. I have to guess. I know he won't tell me, before I guess. Well, sure, fine, whatever. "What?"  
The smile takes over his face even more. He likes me playing his game. "What what?"  
But two can play this game.   
"Well, why do you have that look on your face? C'mon, spill it." "What look, Scully? If anyone is giving anyone a look it's you." I roll my eyes and get back to work.  
Unfortunately he still has that smug smile on his face. And I'm still curious. We work in silence for a few more minutes, neither one of us wanting to surrender. In the end it's me who folds. "Ok Mulder, fine, you win."  
"Win? I didn't know we were in a competition." I give him a disbelieving glaze. Sometimes these games really annoy me. "Your smile."  
"What about my smile? Oh I know, I know." He's waving his hand in the air enthusiastically, like a little schoolboy who knows the answer to a question the teacher asked and is just dying to tell. "You've finally realized I'm irresistible and now you want to make wild hot love on my desk...Scully, you really have a wild streak." I go back to files demonstratively. I asked, now it's in his corner again. But when he hasn't spoken for another ten minutes and still has that same content smile on his face, I fold, again. "Fine, have it your way, I will guess. Let's see, you're really happy about something. That could mean three things. One, they have a discount at the triple X video store. Two, the aliens have finally landed, confessed to taking Elvis and brought him back. Three, you've gotten hold of some case. Probably one I am not going to enjoy and that will piss off quite a few people along the way. 'Cause that seems to be your favorite sport." "As much as the former two appeal to me..." He trails of and actually starts to leave indicating I have to follow. It isn't until he's out of the door, before he notices I'm not. "What's wrong Scully?"  
"I did my part, I guessed. You really don't think you can drag me out of here right now and not tell me at least what excited you so much in this case." I see the doubt that appears in his face for a second. He probably thought it to be more fun if it was a surprise, but I'm not going to let him win the entire show. "Ok, I'll tell you on the way up to Skinner's." "Fine", I sigh.  
We head towards the elevator.  
"So, what's so good about this case?"  
"Well the case itself is quite gruesome and not particularly interesting to us, but it's the guy who humbly asked for our assistance, that's really funny. I heard his senior agent basically told him he wasn't the most adequate person to investigate this prestigious case and that he needed to request our cooperation." "Do I know him?"  
"Quite well, I think."  
"Well, who is it?"  
"Curious aren't we Scully?"  
"Mulder, it might be fair right now to tell you that if you don't share it soon, I will have to kill you, and since I have my service weapon on me and there's no jury in the world that's going to convict me for killing my obnoxious partner, I suggest you tell me now." "Ok, ok...Tom Colton."  
"They passed Colton and gave the case to us?" I look at him incredulously. Despite myself I feel a smile creeping over my face Mulder is grinning a bit more outright and he still does when we enter Skinner's office. 

~ 

The flight is very early and I'm twenty minutes late. I know how much that annoys her. I packed too much as usual and I'm already regretting it when I half run, half walk towards an aggravated looking Scully. 
    
    
            "Sorry," I blurt out.
            She smiles resignedly and walks to the boarding area. As we stand in the long queue, a smartly clad young man makes his way towards us from the front of the queue.
            "Excuse me. Are you special agents Mulder and Scully?" He asks tentatively when he arrives. 
            I nod.
            "Why do you want know?" I ask curiously.
            He extends his hand to me.
            "I'm special agent Fitzgerald. I assume you've heard of me?"
            When he sees that both Scully and I are looking confused he continues.
            "We are assigned to work with you," he says, like that should explain it all.
            "I haven't heard that." I look at Scully but she denies as well. "And who's we?"
            "Special agent Stradford. She is standing over there, in front of the queue. It's just been arranged last night, but we assumed A.D. Skinner informed you."
            "There must be a misunderstanding. Can I see your credentials?" I say rather bluntly.
            The guys badge looks real, but I decide to call Skinner anyway. My mood has darkened significantly at the thought of having to work with two rookies. I get my cell phone out and walk off. It takes the while for Skinner's secretary to pick up the phone. In the mean while I hear Scully asking polite questions, though I think I can hear some disappointment in her voice as well.
            "This is the office of A.D. Skinner. How can I help you?"
            "This is Mulder, I want to talk to him."
            "Agent Mulder, Mr. Skinner is busy right now, can I take a message?"
            "It's important," I say angrily.
            "But..."
            "Connect me"
            A merry song starts to play.
            "Skinner."
            "There are two agents here, saying that they're assigned to work with us. I explained to them that there must be a misunderstanding, but..."
            "Special agents Stradford and Fitzgerald yes. They've just been assigned to you last night. It's all in the papers they have with them. I didn't want to disturb you or agent Scully at such a late hour so I figured you would find out at the airport. If you don't mind, I'm busy. I'll talk to you soon."
            And with that he hangs up. I look at the phone is disbelief for a couple of seconds before I regain my composure and go back to Scully. 
            "Skinner confirms it." 
            Fitzgerald smiles far too cheerful and proclaims that he will get Stradford so they can all check in together. As soon as he turns his back to us, I make a face to Scully. 
    
    

~ 

Checking in together also meant being seated together. Alphabetically. Stradford said that it was a `perfect opportunity to do some bonding with is imperative to a good working relationship between agents'. A couple of hours in an airplane, not my favorite activity, and I have to do bonding. The only thing that lifts my spirits is the fact that Mulder looks just as, if not more, miserable than me. The plane is initiating its take-off, and I'm very tightly holding onto my elbow-rests. In the beginning of my career with Mulder, which had, by no coincidence, coincided with a vast increase in the time I spend in the air, I had thought I would get used to it, but no such thing has happened so far. "So, how is agent Mulder like to work with?" I tear my attention away from my armrests to focus on her question. "I mean, I have heard all these stories, but you never can tell what's true, you know. There's so much gossip in the FBI, you would say they could start a gossip magazine." 

I just nod, not at all feeling in a mood to defend Mulder. And even if I was, there are a lot of rumors and most of them are true anyway. Conversely my silence only seems to encourage her. "And what about Spooky Mulder? Is he really like that? I heard one of my contemporaries say that he gets these visions that solve the cases and stuff." I chuckle to myself. Apparently the rumors have taken a leap since I left. Now everyone figures since he solves abnormal cases, or at least tries to, he must have paranormal powers himself. I look at her sternly. "Mulder is a very capable investigator and he sometimes sees things a lot quicker than others working on the same case. I suppose people try to explain that by saying he is paranormal, so they won't have to admit he's better at the job than they are." She seems a bit taken aback, but after a few seconds of silence she recovers and starts telling me how she heard the rumors and never believed them and that brings up a childhood story about rumors, which leads to a detailed expos of her entire life. I silently admit to myself that I'm beginning to understand why Mulder dislikes working with other people so much. I must have dosed off to sleep, because suddenly Mulder is standing next to our seats. "Agent Stradford, I think it's time to change seats." She looks enthused.  
"Yes, yes, that's a very good idea, then Dana, uh, agent Scully can get to know John and I can get to know you, agent Mulder." "No, I meant you and me change places, I need to discuss something with my partner." "But Da...agent Scully and I were just in the middle of a very interesting conversation." Mulder glances at me and my sleepy eyes and I can see he's trying really hard not to burst out in laughter. "Well, agent Stradford. I need to discuss the case with her. You wouldn't want to be jeopardizing it, wouldn't you?" She looks up doubtful, but when she sees Mulder is serious, she quickly gets up. "Thank you," he says when he falls into his chair. "For what?"  
"For reassuring me that I wasn't the only one bored out of my mind. But you know Scully, I wasn't rude enough to fall asleep in the middle of a 'very interesting conversation'." "I didn't fall asleep," I say indignant. He just stares at me.  
"Fine," I give in. "How was Fitzgerald?" "Oh, he was not so bad, he actually was pretty nice and chatty, but suddenly he started shifting and looking really uncomfortable." "Mulder...what did you do?"  
"Me? What makes you think I had anything to do with that?" I raise my eyebrow at him and let my expression tell him I'm not buying. "Well, I might have mentioned some cases." "Some cases?"  
"I might have let something drop about certain bugs." "Bugs?"  
"It was perfectly innocent. He mentioned how he has been afraid of bugs since he was a kid and by association I told him about several bugs I had run into since I've been on the X-files. Like the fluke worm, the killer cock-roaches, a couple of bee stories...you know the stuff..." "Mulder..."  
"Ah....come on, you fell asleep on Stradford, how is that any better." "Well, at least I didn't do it on purpose." "That's right, you subconsciously let her know she bored you." "I don't really see why you feel it is so rude of me to fall asleep when somebody's talking. I fall asleep on you all the time." "That's different."  
"How?"  
"You fall asleep when I'm around because you're comfortable, you fall asleep around her because she's boring." "My, my, agent Mulder, don't we have a high opinion of ourselves." "So now you think I'm boring. You didn't seem to think that when just now I saved you from your new best friend Stradford." Boring and Mulder. Two words that don't really mesh well together. I guess there's only one way to show him I'm right. "Scully?"  
_snore_  
"Sculleeeeeee..."  
_a yawn and a bit of turning_  
"Look, Scully, I know you're not asleep, don't do this, I'll get bored." I could barely stifle a smile, 2-0 for the skeptics vs. the believers. 

~ 

It was time again, she had said so. He waited, patiently, knowing that time was his friend on this occasion. He saw her and her actions were predictable. He knew every move she would make, every look she would give her surroundings. She looked pitiful. Life hadn't done her any good and neither would death. A stab of sorrow hit him in the stomach, but it was pushed away by a longing much greater. This had to be done. He checked his watch and when it agreed with him, he felt below his coat. The cold metal felt soothing against the warm moist of his hand. His other hand opened the door and a loud bang sealed her faith. A note and then he left. He was ready for what was coming. 

~ 

After I woke up from my fake doze that turned real, I read the files on the case again. Six deaths so far, recently named murders. This reclassification, as well as the link between them, had taken the local police a while. The initial marking as suicides had to do with the relatively close range they had been shot from, and the goodbye-note found at every crime scene. The differentiation between suicide and murder could have been made earlier in the autopsy room but apparently the caseload there was so high, a waiting list of the dead existed. So it wasn't until an attention-paying assistant at the PD headquarters realized the similarities between how these people had died and the contents of the notes, the local PD was alarmed. When they saw it was over their head they passed the case on to the FBI Chicago Field Office who in turn had involved headquarters. That was when Tom Colton had gotten involved. There had been four deaths since then and the press had gotten wind of the situation. Due to the lack of evidence, the steady rate new killings were occurring and the media attention, the case had gotten quiet high-profile, which must make it even more painful for Colton to have to ask for the assistance of us and two rookies. 

But looking over the files, I can hardly blame Colton for not catching the perpetrator. Very few physical evidence was found, for the crime scenes were all very contaminated due to bad personal hygiene of most of the victims or their roommates, which had made it very difficult to establish whether a piece of evidence found on the scene, was indeed connected to the case. The autopsies hadn't turned up much either. They were all shot with the same caliber weapon and the bullets matched. The victims were all unrelated: they had never met, nor did they have the same hair-color, occupation, sex, friends, socioeconomic status or any other matching characteristic. There was nothing to be found to relate them. All the deaths had occurred in different parts of Chicago, in unrelated neighborhoods. The only similarity was that all the murders had occurred in the privacy of their homes, without signs of forced entry. The notes had turned up clean as well. They were written on simple blank paper notes, available in only about every shop in the entire United States with a simple ballpoint, available in at least as many shops, in capitals, so that the only thing that could be determined from the handwriting was that there was a seventy-eight percent change of the notes being written by one and the same person. No prints or fibers had been found, all other testing had turned up blank. The only clue from them was their content. 
    
    
            `Sorry'
            It is scary somehow how much a simple and often misused word can mean so much all of the sudden. 
            `Sorry'
            Who is sorry? The perpetrator? The victim? That had been the initial thought. A suicide note, the victim telling his loved ones he was sorry for everything he had done, for living and for dying. Is the perpetrator apologizing for the victim? Or is he himself sorry. Does he feel like he is driven to these murders outside of his own will? One word can raise so many questions.
            `Sorry'
    
    

~ 

The silence of a comfortable hotel room is very welcoming. I had forgotten how working on important cases also reflected onto the available budget. I'm exhausted from the flight, because unlike Scully I wasn't able to sleep and my mind kept going over the case, like it has done ever since Skinner handed us the case files. I have two hours before meeting Stradford and Fitzgerald in the hotel lobby so I can go into the meeting with Colton feeling a bit refreshed. I decide a nice hot shower and some sleep won't hurt but when I lie down on the bed for just a second I feel myself drifting off immediately. A shower will come later. I wake up an the clock tells me I've still got half an hour before I have to go downstairs. I take my clothes of and throw them on the floor. Then I step into the shower and turn on the hot water. I let my body get used to the warmth and feel better already. I ponder my short nap just now. It is amazing how much better I sleep lately. Nightmares still visit me occasionally and five hours is my maximum, but I remember times when I lived on three hours sleep a night, because after that the nightmares would be too troubling. They would trigger the guilt that is so much a part of me and in the midst of the night I find it hard not to get carried away by it. The pitch-dark, the silence, they force me to think and all I can think about then are thoughts of my own inadequacies, however ridiculous they might seem in broad daylight. Guilt is a night animal. Afraid of the light, it hides during the day, invisible for whoever passes it. But at night, it comes out to hunt, to kill, and to destroy so that when daylight returns, I'm left, barren, afraid and beaten down. And in the end the night animal feels so safe, it comes out in daylight too, conquering that world also, so that the terror of the night is now terror of all times. 
    
    
            How can you escape? I forced myself not to think about the things that haunted me, but the nightmares, they were always there, telling me what I did wrong, what I didn't want to know. I found the only way to escape it is dragging the animal out in the light and face it, so you can destroy it, like it will destroy you if you don't. But for a long time the fear of facing it was greater than the fear of being destroyed. But I've started. Slowly but steadily I'm dealing with some of those night-loving demons. Knowing there aren't nearly as many monsters to capture me during the night as there used to be, I can sleep, a bit longer every night. 
            But still, whenever my work forces me to deal with the darker aspects of life, with the true monsters, I get hunted again. I've learned by now that true evil doesn't exist and that's what makes it so damn frightening. When the most horrific crimes are committed it's easiest to think that whoever, or in my line of work, whatever, did it is all evil. But it's not true. There is always a reason. An understandable one if I try to. That frightens me too. How well I understand. But it depends on the reason as well. For me necessity is the easiest. There's something perversely comforting about knowing that what forced them to kill, or mutilate in a lesser degree, is primal instinct. Something everyone has. The thought process isn't evil, they had to. Even though the crimes are still repelling, there was no other way.
            It's harder when the killer gets off on it. When they need the thrill of the act. This is more a mental dependency on the deeds than a physical, like the former, but still a dependency of some kind. The difference between these two types of killings is the way in which they are persecuted. The latter often come with some sort of ritual of which only the killer sees the significance. Unfortunately the difference between them is also the difference between the what and the who most of the time. My work with the VCS meant being confronted with this kind of killer, and also understand them, identify with them, grasp the way their mind worked. It was hell. The X-files were a relief after that. Despite the horrific things I, and later we, saw, it were mostly cases in which the crimes were committed out of necessity of the physical kind, not out of the need for an emotional thrill. There were exceptions of course, lots of them, but most of the time it was easier. 
            I vividly remember how Scully reacted the first time she was confronted with a thrill seeking killer like that. Donnie Pfaster shocked her to the core by showing her what a fellow human being was capable of. I felt immensely for her. That feeling was all too familiar and I had never wanted her to know. It was then that guilt interfered in our relationship for the first time. Not the last of course. When he came back into our lives earlier this year she felt the connection like she'd only really felt with Boggs. And I had felt with Modell. Once you're forced to get into their minds, once you're really forced to confront them and their actions, they take a part of you. Reside in it and never leave. When you work at the VCS too long your entire mind gets taken over. I remember Bill Patterson all too vividly. 
            After that second case with Pfaster she told me how she had seen him. She told me how he had changed faces before her eyes, finally morphing into a monster that represented true evil. It scared her, and relieved me. She was scared because her mind could play tricks on her. She reckoned the faces she had seen had been mere projections of her own fears. I agree with her. My own relief stemmed mostly from the fact that she felt comfortable confiding in me. She could now freely talk about her fears and worries without feeling inhibited anymore. 
    I told her how I remember her crying for the first time so well. My confession let to hers, sharing how hard it had been for her to confide in me, too show me she was terrified and needed comfort. How she felt that when she wasn't strong and independent I would see her as less than a fully capable agent and less of a human being who didn't warrant respect. I told her how amazing it had been for me to have someone needing me for comfort. To have someone as strong and amazing as she to trust me to ease her pain. And how it made me respect her even more. 
            Then we got confronted with the third kind of killer. The one that has no need to kill other than his selfish goals. Where not the killing is the goal, but merely a means to an end. Where the living beings that are dying in the process don't matter, where they are dismissed as technicalities, as unimportant details that have to be taken care of. These types of killers are the ones that shock me most and I only came across them once I started working on the X-files and started to delve deeper into the conspiracy of the Consortium. Because they are the ultimate example of this type of murderer. They killed and hurt whomever they had to in order to secure the continuation of the Project, the dead bodies being dismissed as worthless. Not even a thought was wasted on them, as long as their deaths didn't come back to haunt them. Their passing infinitely more important to them than their lives or the future they could have had. For Scully and me this was the most shocking type of death we encountered. 
            The ignorance with which these killings were surrounded was so foreign and yet the people that committed them were so human. They were not clouded by psychological or physiological disorders, they were self-aware humans, knowing fully well what they were doing. Their goals were human too. Ever since self-consciousness had become part of men's behavioral pattern, they had hunted for power and gotten that power, unlike others primates, by manipulating and going behind each other's back. This quality, the ambition, even though it meant going to extremes, was admired in society throughout time and had become one of the main factors in becoming a success, living the American dream. 
            So how do you distinguish the man who is ambitious and has made it to the top of American society, a director of some sort, and a man like Him, the Cigarette Man. Are they different in the lengths they would go to for achieving their goals? Would this one merely bribe and that one kill or is the difference just a coincidence, had the circumstances caused the second to take refuge in other, more extreme means and is their mind basically the same? It is impossible to know and because of their humanity and normality it is near to impossible to get in their heads, the way one can with a madman. They are humans like the rest of us, as unpredictable as everyone else. When will the scale of their priorities balance to the other side, when would they choose family values over the "greater good". The Smoking Bastard had surprised me time after time, I have to give him that. When I was sure he was the lowest of the lowest, he did something for Scully and me. From what I know now he was the one who held back the Consortium when they wanted to eliminate me. But other times his so-called "acts of compassion" were only performed to win our trust and to get us in his pocket, indebted. 
            These kinds of murderers are who hit us closest to home, they are who took my sister and killed my father and Scully's sister. They have, to a certain extent, killed both of us, burdened us with forever-lasting guilt and regret, making us forever fear and be paranoid. But I can't look at them without a certain degree of gratitude, because they brought me Scully. I know it was never their intention to give me an ally, so my gratitude is misplaced, but without them, oh irony, I would most certainly be dead right now. I don't even mean the countless times Scully saved my ass when I was in trouble. Sure, every one of those times could have easily been the end of me. Though I have to admit, and I'll never share this with Scully, that I found myself in many of these situations because of her. Because when she became my partner and friend she made me feel like someone cared, like someone would protect me, and someone would continue my work if I wasn't there anymore, so I ran into the more dangerous situations with less thoughts beforehand. But this was only in the beginning, once I realized I wasn't the only one in need in the relationship, that she needed me to, starting with Pfaster, I became more careful, not wanting to inflict hurt upon her, because I cared and because, selfish bastard that I am, I didn't want to feel more guilt. Like guilt still troubles you after you've passed.
            I wake up from my pondering when the shower suddenly turns cold and then hot again. I decide it must be time to get down and as I get dressed, I wonder what type of case this is. The key to the answer is in the notes left near the victims' bodies. Even now, not having investigated anything yet I feel like the answer is right in front of me. Scully feels it to. But what does 'sorry' mean? Does it stand for the guilt the killer feels over killing them, though he can't help himself, because he has to, because it gives him something physical? Or does it represent the voice of the victims, claiming regret through the perpetrator's hand as they die? Is it part of his ritual in killing, as if by making them die he can force the feeling of regret upon them? Or the third possibility. Were these people merely in his way and was that why they had to die? But why would he be sorry if he first dismissed them as nothing? Even though I haven't figured out the answer to that question I can't dismiss the possibility out of hand. The answer is there, and now the search for it will start.
    

Chapter 2 

My short nap leaves me refreshed and excited. The most infamous agents of the bureau will be my, our, supervisors. I felt like a little girl during the flight, finally meeting her idol. Uncomfortable and giddy I babbled on and on until disappointment hit when I saw she had fallen asleep on me. My intuitive idea that they both weren't at all pleased with our assignment to the case was confirmed. John told me the same thing later. My time with John on the flight made up the earlier disappointments. I feel comfortable around him, not so suspicious that he will use me for his own purposes like so many men in the FBI do. During my time at the academy I found out that all the clichs are still true. It is harder as a woman. Agent Scully seems like someone who understands that, but refuses to accept it as well. Despite her less than civil approach of me, I still have to confess to liking her. She seems powerful and self-assured, traits I sincerely envy. 
    
    
            I haven't had time yet to form my own opinion of agent Mulder yet, but John's isn't very positive up till now and I have to say I can see his point. Agent Mulder strikes me as the kind of guy who doesn't care whether you male or female. He doesn't like you either way. 
            I have to be professional about this case. I shouldn't let my longing for what they have cloud my judgment of the case and especially of John. If I want to prove that I'm just as capable, if not more, than any guy out there, this is the path to take. With this resolution I go downstairs.
    
    

~ 
    
    
            We eat lunch is silence. Even though the idea of Colton being forced to ask for our help is a great one, I still am not looking forward to meeting him and especially working for him. Judging by Scully's look she feels the same. I want to discuss it, we do that now, but the presence of two strangers makes it difficult. I don't feel the need to burden them with Colton's perception of me, even when their own may be comparable. 
            I grin slyly when I order a burger with a large side order of French fries. Her sensible salad and not so sensible coffee with sugar, no cream arrive at the same time. Fitzgerald also demonstrates a healthy appetite. Stradford plays with her sandwich, looking particularly distracted. After half my burger has made its way past my mouth, I explain the procedure to them.
            "This afternoon we're meeting with agent Colton, the SAC on this case, who asked us to be ASACs. Together we'll decide how to further pursue the case and what your role in it will be."
            Then we finish in mutual silence. 
    

~ 
    
    
            I park the car two blocks from the local police station. Even with their parking facilities, it is impossible to park nearer. I am relieved for the extra time that the walk buys us. I dawdle and Scully notices. While the other two proceed, she and I walk together in silence, some twenty feet behind them. After a few minutes she breaks it.
            "Are you worried?"
            I shake no, though the slight hesitation isn't missed by her. 
            "Why? Is it working for Colton?"
            I shrug, thinking unhappy thoughts as I look at the two men who can't be anything but reporters, posted in front of the police station.
            "You'll be fine, profiling, Mulder."
            I shrug again hesitantly. But as she walks into the police station before me, I smile at her sharpness.
    

~ 
    
    
            "Come in"
            They walk into my borrowed office. I haven't talked to them since the Tooms-case. I saw them in passing in the Hoover-building at times, heard the gossip, but never talked to either one again. I regret that sometimes. I was an ass then, but so was Mulder. Dana was right of course, I did it all to climb the ladder, used them, and that was wrong. But you can't blame me for my reluctance to accept Mulder's theories and his methods. They're not only unorthodox, but also a free ticket to get kicked out of the FBI. I wonder quite often why he's still here. I've heard about the times the X-files were closed, but somehow they got them back and are still investigating them. The only answer I can come up with is that they either don't think he's worth the trouble of kicking out or he's onto something, whatever that may be, and someone's scared of what he might reveal when he's indeed thrown out. I'm inclined to the first answer, but that's probably my subjective perspective. The rumors I've heard about their expense reports point to the latter. Apparently they cost the FBI a lot of money. So they must have something on someone. 
            They aren't alone. They've brought the new agents I was promised. I was pissed off when I heard they would take over the case, because to me, and probably everyone else, it sounded like a rejection, a dismissal of my talents. If I'm really honest to myself I know it was an outright rejection, but fortunately I'm not. I have to admit I'm over my head here though, I don't have a clue about neither the who, nor the why. I know now that I need to find and respect my limits, but it took me years to find them, and I still refuse to respect them, when it means I have to humble myself for others I consider less worthy. Of course my psychiatrist said that was also something we needed to work on. He didn't regard my classing of people into worthy and unworthy of certain things as the epitome of mentally sound, to put it mildly. I fired him. At least as much in the way you can fire a psychiatrist.
            Maybe we should work on that too.
            Anyway, maybe after another twenty years I could accept the fact that Mulder might possibly be slightly better at catching psychos than I am, but that mental milestone is still far off. For now I dread the thought that I have to not only work with him, but also follow his directions, or even worse his orders. So in the back of my mind I decided to see how much Skinner has told them about the division of labor and how much of that he has left up to me. Anything to avoid the smug smile when he realizes he's in charge.
            Another thorn in my side is the knowledge that Dana still works with him. I would have never believed it back then, even though I saw her display an incredible amount of loyalty towards him. I figured it was just punishment for my denial of her talents. 
            Psychiatrist: "The whole world does not revolve around you, Tom."
            Whatever.
            Unfortunately I accepted that part of the psychiatrist's treatment, so I started doubting the notion she did it just to piss me off. And in the light of things, she's been working with him for over seven years now, I have to accept other possibilities. For example that he might actually be interesting. I dread that as well. Or that they might be involved, although that doesn't sound very likely. She's one to go by the book and I don't think she would jeopardize her job and working relationship with Mulder in favor of a physical relationship. But it's still a possibility. I shiver at the thought. Maybe that something they have on that someone is powerful enough to make it possible for them to have more than a professional relationship. One way or another, there must be a reason beside the job that explains why she stays with him. 
            The new agents have also entered. They introduce themselves as John Fitzgerald and Jennifer Stradford. They look way too young and excited to be professional FBI agents, let alone capable ones. I subconsciously class them into the unworthy category before I can help myself.
            "Please, sit down," I say, unable to keep all of the sarcasm out of my voice. It doesn't go unnoticed. Mulder looks at Dana and flinches slightly. 
            "I assume AD Skinner has and detective Johnson have filled you in on the case sufficiently?" I automatically go in SAC-mode. I still feel like I'm in charge of this case. Mulder and Dana apparently decide to humor me for a little while, for they don't object and just nod their confirmation. 
            "The reason you are here is that we need more help on both the investigating and the forensic aspect of the case. We've been unable so far to connect the murders apart from the note and since new victims have been found, we've decided that we need all the help we can get. " Okay, that was almost completely true, apart from the we part. I had been unable and they had decided. Oh well.
            "Could you tell us a little bit more detailed what exactly is expected from us?" Apparently they have indeed agreed to try not to step on my toes. Mulder looks thoughtful asking that question, uncertain of my reaction. Somehow, his uncertainty and his careful manners don't please me, but infuriate me instead. I should be satisfied that I'm important enough to cause this change of attitude in Mulder, but I feel he's the better man for acting like the adults we're supposed to be. I decide to show him my best side as well and surprise the bastard.
            "Agent Mulder, we would like you to profile the killer. Everyone agreed you were the best man for the job, so your presence was requested. As for agent Scully," she looks up surprised at the use of her last name, "we would be very happy if she could give us some of her excellent advise on the conditions under which these poor people died. The other two can do whatever needs to be done."
            I vaguely wave in their direction, like they are barely more than air. No need to make them feel important too.
            Psychiatrist: `Tom....the world...'
            Whatever. Shut up.
            `Maybe we need too work on that too.'
            I feel a pounding headache arrive and I quickly go through my drawer in search of some aspirin, but then change my mind. Don't want to show them any of my weaknesses. 
            "I myself will mostly step down from the investigative section, since I'm needed elsewhere."
            This is of course not true. I'm not needed elsewhere, I'm still on this case, working for them, but gathering from their response, they don't know that. Which suits me just fine.
            "You have almost complete freedom in pursuing different angles you deem worthy under one condition..."
            "And that is?" I kind of expected Mulder to be the one to ask that question, but it's Dana voice that cuts the air like cream cake. In a couple of years they'll be a Siamese twin.
            "That you report whatever it is you're doing or whatever you find or think to have found to me." So I can take the credit.
            There's definitely no one that has told them it's exactly the other way around. My heart skips a little happy beat. If it's up to me, they won't find out either. 
            Judging from their faces now their bodies haven't grown together just yet, because Mulder reluctantly looks the other way, until he can't stand Dana's penetrating look in his back anymore and gives me a short nod, though still reluctant. They start to get up, but I stop them with a motion of my hand.
            "I want this cooperation to work, agents," stressing the last word on purpose.
            "We too, Agent Colton," Scully answers. God, they speak for each other too. And then they leave, the two young ones following, looking a bit confused about the conversation that just took place. When the door shuts I quickly grab that aspirin and swallow it without any water.
    

~ 
    
    
            They're silent as we drive back to the hotel and I'm afraid to ask. John has noticed too, he is sitting next to me in the back seat looking very confused. I think of asking agent Scully what the hell that conversation was all about. There is definitely some history and friction between them and Colton, they were strangely polite to each other and Colton made sure they knew he was in charge. This left me confused. I was told we had to report to agent Mulder and Scully, but gathering from the meeting just now, they have to report to agent Colton. So I'm lost to why we don't have to report to him directly. I shrug it off though, FBI politics I guess. I'm still left wondering what the history is between Colton and them.
            When we get back to the hotel it's getting late and everyone is tired. I'm longing for my bed, though it's not mine and I probably can't sleep anyway. I would be nice just to lie down, gather some strength for tomorrow. I've got the distinct feeling I'm going to need it. My head is spinning with ideas and thoughts about them, John, Colton, the case. With restless legs and mind I lie down. It takes me two hours to fall asleep.
    

Chapter 3 

A call at too early an hour. Never good news. Colton's voice demanding our presence, stating that a new body had been found. Waking the others, getting dressed, all a routine. No coffee anywhere at this hour. It's only in the car that my automatic pilot can be turned off and I start to get excited by the prospect of something real and new to go on. 
    
    
            "Do you know anything else about it?" Scully asks.
            I don't and silence falls again. No one seems to be ready for this yet. We had made plans to start slow tomorrow, visit the crime scenes, go over some notes, no such thing now.
            We arrive at the address that was given to me over the phone. It's in a dilapidated neighborhood, the apartment block appears to be in very bad shape. Our ID's are the sign for the young cop to bring us directly to detective Johnson, who's in charge of the local PD. Johnson is a fifty-year old with a large posture and heavy mustache that gives him a natural preponderance. We introduce ourselves, but Johnson seems adamant to go straight to business.
    

"We found her after an anonymous tip to 911 this morning. Two of my agents went out to investigate and when they saw the note they immediately warned me and agent Colton." He indicates we should follow him inside. We go to the third floor where the small hallway has been taken over by various government officials. Two nosy neighbors are standing in their doorway to see what all the fuss is about. Johnson ducks under the red tape to enter the victim's apartment. We follow and see Colton's already there. Johnson looks onto his notepad and begins to recite what he knows. "From what we know from the neighbors this here is Ella Jackson." He points to a foul smelling form on the bed. It's dark and I can't quite make out what's what. "She was fifty-four and worked at a supermarket, Milker's, nearby. Single, no children, no friends, no enemies. We think she's been dead for about three days." I walk towards the dark form in the corner. When I'm close enough I see an obese African-American woman lying on her side. A crusted dark red stain colors her dirty yellow nightgown in her chest. I look at the night stand and I see the note is still lying there. `Sorry' it says in capitals. I turn to the woman again. It appears she has fallen to the side after she was shot and when I turn around I see what she was looking at. A TV-set is standing across the small room. "Was that on?" I ask Johnson.  
He nods.   
"We dusted it for finger prints and then turned it off. It was on a soap channel of some sort. I think she died watching The Young and the Restless or something." I make a mental note to check for TV listings on the channel. I glance over the room. It has only the simplest things a human needs: a microwave and a TV-set. It doesn't appear to be very clean either. "Good morning agent Mulder." I hadn't noticed Colton standing next to me. "Has detective Johnson filled you in already?" I nod.   
"Well, you probably haven't heard that we contacted the supermarket where she works. Her boss hadn't reported her missing because he had figured she was just sick and didn't tell him. When I said I was calling about Ella Jackson, the first thing he said was that I should tell he she's fired." He grins, but I don't see the humor.  
Another young agent walks in and taps Colton on the shoulder. "Excuse me sir, we've found the person who placed the 911 call. It's a 16-year old boy. His little brother seems to have found the body, but he got scared and ran off. He warned his big brother and he in turn called 911. Should we take them to the station?" Colton nods.  
"You and Henderson can interrogate them." He walks away to make place for a forty-year old bald guy. "Sir?"  
Colton nods again.  
"Can we take the body yet?"  
Colton turns around to Scully.  
"Agent Scully, could you go with them? At the morgue you'll meet Cindy Hughes, who's the pathologist on this case. It would be great if the autopsy could be done as soon as possible." "Sure," she answers, while glancing at me. Go. I let my face tell her. 

~ 

I meet Cindy Hughes at the morgue. She had been the coroner on the fourth and the fifth victim and had been put in charge of the others as soon as the connection was discovered. I instantly like her. She has an attitude towards me that is a relief compared to some I have encountered before. Often the pathologists, especially men, feel threatened by an intruder who comes to reevaluate their work, especially if the intruder is a woman. I felt like Cindy Hughes thought of me as someone who could teach her things, as well as the other way around. Immediately we work together instead of as competitors for some invisible prize handed out to the person who knows things best, or who's most persistent. She tells me the corpses she had seen so far were not very remarkable, rather that it's the number that gets to you. Indeed, when she points out which drawers are filled with victims of the same men, it's the first time I really realize the sheer number. She has done five autopsies so far. Two of them had already been autopsied before, but she had wanted to check them out anyway. Of the others it had only been determined they were victims because of the note. 
    
    
            Ella Jackson's remains arrived here a couple of minutes before I did and I see it has been placed on the autopsy table already when we walk in. 
            "So, another one, huh?" She asks.
            I nod.
            "Well, let's hope that we'll find something this time then."
    
    

  
~
    
    
            I am excited. Very excited. A new body, a new trail, fresh this time. My mind is already wandering towards fantasies of great discoveries and magnificent praise by the FBI. I look around the crime scene, trying to take everything, not miss a detail, so later, at the right time, I can link the details together, so they form one big picture, one of the murderer. At the same time though, I feel like I'm drowning in the details. There were so many already and now only more and more links and leads have come forward. My favorite teacher at the academy used to explain that every case has a point in which you have enough information to know who the perpetrator is. After that point all additional information only clutters your vision, obscures the answers. There is a point where you have to stop getting more information and I can't help but feel like that point is long passed on this case. The seventh victim.
            John looks as lost as I am. Mulder seems completely oblivious to anything other than the case at hand. 
            "John?"
            "Do you think we should maybe interrogate some witnesses. That might help. We could ask Colton who hasn't been interrogated yet."
    

He seems pleased with my idea. I am too. Finally to have something on my hands instead of feeling useless like a sidekick. 

~ 

Cindy asked me if I wanted to help her with the last autopsy as well. So after we had finished with Ella Jackson, we took a short break and then got back to work. I look at the numerous drawers full of dead people and I swallow. She gets a corpse on the autopsy table, the entrance wound very visible in his chest. It's a young man, handsome and I guess he was Derek Livingston, because that is the only young male the list contains. The foot tag confirms it. I quickly scan my notes, though I don't need them to remember how he died. He had been found in the bathroom of his house, which he shared with three other students. He was supposed to be at a party with the others who had left earlier, because Derek apparently had to finish a phone-call to his girlfriend of seven months. When he hadn't shown up after two hours one of his friends became worried and phoned him on his cell. When Derek didn't answer the friend assumed he had forgotten it at home and was on his way. When he wasn't there an hour later, he had warned another friend and decided to check it out. Their house was only a ten-minute walk away and they were in need of fresh air anyway. They assumed Derek's call had taken up longer than he had expected and that he had decided to stay home, but when they arrived there and called for him, he wasn't answering. One of the two friends, in need of the bathroom went up and found the body. He had called 911 and the police had arrived 10 minutes after that. The coroner had determined the time of death three to four hours before the discovery of the body, limiting the time of death between 10 PM and 10:30 PM. 
    
    
            I look at the body with as much objectivity as I can muster, but it's hard. He had only been 21, his whole life ahead of him, full of dreams and possibilities. I always find the young ones the hardest. They remind me of how much can be taken away, how much has been taken away. At the time of his death the connection between the bodies with the notes had already been determined so the police had immediately called Colton to the scene. He had done an extensive search, which had provided more than a dozen different fingerprints, fibers and hairs. The inhabitants of the house were all students,  so very sexually active without too much concern for cleaning. It was seriously doubted whether the fingerprints of the killer were there.
            So the answer has to be found in either the notes or the autopsies. I look at him. The cause of death is apparent. A single gunshot wound to his chest. We start by examining him from the outside, but no signs of struggle can be found. There are no fingerprints on his body that could be the killers. The left side of his neck shows a yellow discoloring, but it's too old to have been administered just prior to his death and I very much think it's just more evidence to Derek active sex life. In a flash I regretfully think they won't find anything like that on my dead body if I were to die right now. I would've liked it if that had been the case. 
    

Cindy rolls him over to show me the exit wound on his back, a bit more dorsal than the entrance wound. We start with a Y-incision, to see what chaos the bullet has created inside his chest. Once more the chaos a single bullet can create surprises me. His right ventricle is torn to pieces and a big part of his left lung is destroyed. We follow the path of the bullet. It entered a left lateral in the second intercostal space. It went through his left atrium, right ventricle and then entered his right lung. It exited through the fourth intercostal space. The position of the entrance and exit wounds tell us that the killer was standing higher than him and I realize what he was doing on the bathroom floor with his pants down. He was sitting on the toilet when he was shot. This realization makes it even sadder. There's not much left to do. The way he died couldn't be more obvious, so we go on to collect some tissue samples, without much hope that our efforts have any use, because nothing will be found, just like Ella Jackson and all the others. 

~ 
    
    
            "Did you hear anything Tuesday night?"
            "When did you say?"
            "Tuesday night. So that's three days ago morning."
            The man standing in the doorway looks as though he probably won't even remember us ten minutes from now. He has a white shirt on that unfortunately we can see through, so his abundant love handles are clearly visible. Two wet stains below his armpits are the probable culprits for the smell that surrounds him and his belly is not covered at all since the shirt isn't long enough to stretch over it and the elastic of his trousers isn't wide enough to go over it. In one hand he has a bag of potato chips, in the other a half-empty bottle of vodka. And it's only eleven o'clock.
            "What was on then?"
            "What do you mean, sir?"
            "What game was on?"
            "None sir, it was around nine o'clock in the evening."
            "Well, I guess I was sleeping then, huh."
            "So you didn't hear anything unusual?"
            "Nuh."
            "Thank you sir for your time."
            "Kay." And with that, he closes the door. 
    I turn to Jennifer.
            "Maybe we should give up. I don't think anyone in this building is going to tell us anything remotely useful. They probably wouldn't consider screams of terror unusual anyway."
            "You're right. Let's get some coffee and check with Mulder and Colton again."
            We leave the smell that is still lingering in the hallway behind.
    

~ 
    
    
            I get back from the morgue and go straight to my room. Hours of doing autopsies do get to you, despite how much you may be used to it. I stopped to get a sandwich on the way over. I know Mulder thinks it's perverted but I always get really hungry from being in the morgue. I don't know what it is either, but I'm glad I had something to eat. I'm just taking my shoes off to lie down on my bed when there is knocking on the door. I open it and it's Mulder of course, who immediately walks straight to my bed and lets himself fall down on it.
            "God, I'm tired."
            "Mulder..."
            "Yeah?"
            "What are you doing?"
            "I'm lying on your bed, Scully." 
            "I'm not in the mood for this Mulder. Just go to your room so we can both get some rest."
            I sigh when he gives no indication of moving.
            "Fine. Mulder?"
            "Yeah?"
            I sit down next to him.
            "What's up?"
            "How nice of you to ask that." 
            "So?"
            "Another one."
            "Yes."
            "We're not going to find anything on that crime scene."
            "Nor in the autopsy results."
            He shakes his head. 
            "You know, despite what I might think about Colton, you can't really blame him for not solving the case. There just isn't anything to go on. I spend the entire day interrogating people. I visited to other crime scenes. I stared at those for an hour. Nothing."
            Pensively I look out the window, but it's dark and all I can see is us sitting on the bed together. Suddenly Mulder grins.
            "Then there's the meeting with Colton. He was acting bizarre really, civil. It scared the living shit out of me."
            "At the risk of saying I told you so, you see what can happen if you try to be the adult. Oh what the hell. I told you so."
            "Thanks, it's so nice to have someone who never tells you those things in hindsight."
            And he's the one who should be saying that. I turn to him. "Let me tell you a story about a black kettle, Mulder."
            "Okay, okay. But besides all of that, it was still...weird."
            "I know. I hadn't expected him to give us as much freedom as he did."
            "No...me neither. You think he's got ulterior motives?"
            "If he does, I don't care. I really think we should just use this to our advantages and go with it."
            "Yeah...you're probably right."
            We're both quiet again.
            "So what do you think is the next step?"
            "I don't know. Care to hear my theory on the whole?
            "I'm not sure. Does it involve fluke men?"
            He grins at my joke.
            "Glad you're still capable of jokes."
            "Well..."
            "I don't have one."
            "You don't?"
            "No. I can't for the live of me figure out what the use is of killing these people. Especially because he's doing it with a plain gun, no rituals, not special treatments, only a note."
            "I know. It strange, how there's nothing here. All this information, and the only thing personal about it all is the note. If not for that and the nature of his victims, I would say that they're just plain liquidations. That someone is getting them out of the way. A mafia thing or something."
            "Apart from the note."
            "Exactly, because why would a professional leave a note saying `sorry'? Why would he be sorry in the first place?"
            We both fall silent for a minute. Mulder looks a bit distressed. 
            "What's wrong?" I ask.
            It takes a couple of seconds for him to answer.
            "I need to start my profile, don't I?"
            "That's what they got you here for."
            "I know. I'm just not looking forward to it at all.."
            I sigh and Mulder's look demands an explanation from me. I sigh again. "You know, on cases like this I wonder what I'm here for. What did they ask me for? Or am I just here to keep you happy and tag along? I don't know, I guess I sometimes feel a bit useless."
            "You're not, Scully"
            "Maybe not to you, but to them, to Colton?"
            "If it makes you feel better, I need you, but apparently so does the rest of the team. You too were specifically requested for your skills as an investigator, not just to help me through my profile. Besides, I'm not the emotional wreck everyone thinks I am. I can do it, without breaking down, I know it. I just rather not."
            "It does make me feel better and I know you can do it."
            "You are appreciated for your own skills, not just mine."
            I snort.
            "I'm glad, because if I was just appreciated for your skills I just might as well quit the FBI. I don't know Mulder, but it seems to me like your skills aren't really being appreciated a lot. Needed maybe, but other than that quite the opposite. Most people despise you because of them."
            He suddenly smiles gracefully.
            "But you don't."
            "No, I don't."
            We both keep silence companionably.
            "I'm scared, Scully."
            "I know, me too. But we both know you're stronger now. You have accepted the past, and in the process accepted yourself too. You are your own person now, you no longer depend on other people's approval, so I know you can stay yourself when you'll profile."
            He suddenly becomes defensive.
            "What makes you think I depended on other people's approval and now I'm not?"
            I smile.
            "Come on Mulder. As much as you try to act like you don't care and hide behind your cynicism, you are hurt when people call you 'Spooky' behind your back and when they dismiss you like a lunatic and not even consider taking the time to listen to you, don't take the time to consider that what you're saying could be true or at least have some truth in it."
            "I didn't mean that."
            She looks at him, surprised.
            "You didn't mean what?"
            "I meant, what makes you think I don't need other people's approval now."
            He looks at me with his big brown eyes, begging for my approval, for my love. But I don't give it to him. I've never been able to. Maybe that's why he still wants it. But I see something else there too, there's less need than other times I've looked in those same eyes. This has been a healing year and while the process might not have been completed and may never be, it's gone a long way already. I smile at him again.
            "Lately you don't care what others say, you know your place and the truth behind your words. You've seen enough of both the conspiracy and yourself to stand behind your words to realize what drives them to their assessments of you. Fear, envy, denial."
            "I meant that I still need your approval."
            I look at him wistfully. Every time I think I know him he's still one step ahead of me.
            "I know that."
            I smile and he returns it, but both our smiles have a sadness behind them. His, I think, because he wants more from me than just approval. Mine, because I still can't give him what he needs so much.
            "You know, I always approve of you, right? I may not always approve of your methods or agree with your theories, but I do approve of you."
            We smile at each other once more.
            "Goodnight Mulder." I kiss him softly on his cheek.
            "Goodnight Scully."
    

Chapter 4 

I can't get them. They have a connection that apparently makes words obsolete and they don't feel like including us. I don't know exactly what I expected from this case, but I know I thought we would have a bit more influence. Right now Jennifer and I are just plainly ignored. Agent Colton didn't even seem to realize we were there in his office, detective Johnson never said a word to us and both of them don't include us either is their investigative strategies. I feel excluded and I don't like it. Jennifer feels the same, I can see it. She looks as miserable as I feel. We both had expectations, and we knew we were just sidekicks for Mulder, Scully and Colton, but right now we're even less than that. 
    
    
            Our meeting with Agent Colton, which made me wonder whether there was some history there we didn't know about, was representative of how we feel on this case and how we are treated. Not once did agent Colton acknowledge our presence or God forbid even speak to us. And now, at dinner, Mulder and Scully don't even bother to join us, so Jennifer and I are left together at the dining table in the hotel's restaurant. Neither knows what to say, an awkward silence has fallen. I don't feel like going to my room, the night is young and I'm not tired. The adrenalin would keep me awake for at least another couple of hours and I don't want to spend those going over the case and my position in it. 
            "Jennifer?"
            She looks up from her exhausting study of the tablecloth, pretending to be disturbed in something very intriguing just to hide her blatant awkwardness equivalent to mine from me.
            "Wanna grab a drink?"
            She looks up and smiles a bit shyly. It's a nice smile.
            "I'd like that."
            We grab our coats and go outside to a pub I saw earlier. It is warm, noisy, cozy, comforting. Just what we need. We sit down and order our drinks. Two beers, safe.
            "So what do you think about the case?"
            She looks like I stole her question to enter into a conversation. I probably did.
            "I don't know. I haven't really felt like I could grab it you know."
            I know, and I give her a sad smile to acknowledge her. I know it's not good to talk about your superiors in less than a good way, but I really want to share and I know she feels the same.
            "It doesn't help that we're not involved in anything, huh."
            "No..." She looks pensive, then seems to decide something. 
            "We weren't much included in the conversations so far."
            Again I agree with a nod. 
            "Maybe the only way to get noticed in the midst of all these politics is to really help with the case. To find the breakthrough, or something. Though I have no idea whatsoever where I would need to look for that."
            "Me neither."
            I wait a few seconds and then make my decision too.
            "So you noticed as well."
            "What?"
            "The politics."
            She nods.
            "It has me thinking what the history between them is. If I were more of a soap opera lover then I would definitely suggest a love triangle at some point."
            We both grin. Somehow Mulder and Scully aren't quite the people to find themselves in the middle of a love triangle. Though there does appear to be a certain chemistry. I order another round of beers and take a big sip before I continue.
            "There does seem to be something between them. A spark of some sort. You reckon they are more than just colleagues?"
            "I'm sure they are. They seem to be really good friends. They have something, I don't know if you've notices, but they speak to each other without words somehow. They give each other these looks and seem to know exactly what the other means. It's strange and amazing. I wish I had that with someone."
            "I noticed." I take another sip from my beer. "But I meant, you know, do you think they're even more than that."
            She thinks about for a second.
            "They could be."
            I nod in agreement. They could be.
            We finish the rest of our beers in silence and just when I think we're going to leave, she asks me if I would like another round, on her this time. 
            "Sure."
            So with our hands safely around the moist and ice-cold beer glasses, we commit ourselves to some more talk.
            "So...what do you think about the case?" she says with a slight smile.
            "I don't know, it seems strange."
            "What?"
            "Well, the fact he leaves notes saying 'sorry'. Agent Scully and Mulder seem to think that too. I got the idea they think the clue to this case is in that note."
            "Yeah, could be..."
            She looks away, apparently deep in thought. Suddenly she looks up again, surprised like she just realized something.
            "You know, if the note is the key to the case, the human connection to the killer, it must have a deeper meaning..."
            "Yeah, that seems logical, but I think that's what agent Mulder is looking into when he does his profile. He said as much during lunch, about the meaning of the world 'sorry'."
            "I didn't mean that. I think there's something important in the mere fact that he left a note. Why would he do that if he didn't want us to find the victims and tell us something?"
            "Okay, that makes sense. So what's your theory?"
            "Well, like I said, I think he wants us to find them, but it doesn't look like he wants to get caught. I don't know a whole lot about serial killers, I never specialized in them like agent Mulder did, but from what I know I gather that if they want to get caught, which most of them do, they get sloppy. The intervals between the various cases becomes shorter, they start to leave traces, a hair, some blood of the victim, maybe even a fingerprint. In this case, there's no regular interval, also none that decreases in time. We can't predict when the next murder will occur, not even if it will. The perpetrator doesn't seem to murder out off some sick need, he seems to murder for a reason. He doesn't hide the bodies, but neither does he portray the bodies in a way important to him. I think maybe he kills because he...I don't know."
            "What?" I ask, intrigued by her line of thought.
            "It's nothing, it's probably way off."
            "Come on, it sounded very good, I think you're really onto something here."
            "Ok." She smiles shyly, like she isn't sure whether I'm serious or just trying to get a good laugh at her expense. It's funny, because when we met I thought she was extremely sure of herself. So I guess she is a good actress too. But what she's telling me sounds very good. I hadn't looked at the notes that way. I guess me and everyone else have been focusing on the word 'sorry' not the possible meaning of the note itself. It's intriguing.
            "Well, I think that maybe the victims were in the perpetrator's way. Maybe he doesn't kill them for the killing, but for the death. Maybe he has done something that they saw."
            "So it's the elimination of witnesses..."
            "I told you it didn't make sense." She seems embarrassed that I apparently don't believe her. But she recovers quite fast and puts on the mask she seems to wear. Her face is indifferent, like she doesn't care, but she showed me how she really feels and I'm not about to let it go.
            "It does, it explains why there's no clear connection between the victims. I mean, we didn't check the places they went to more than two days before they were murdered and of course they could've all gone to different places, meaning there are a number of cases to which they were witnesses."
            She smiles. The first time I've really seen her smile. She only gave little grins, a polite curving of her mouth, not a laugh that involved the rest of her face. She's grateful for my support, and grateful to have found an ally and so am I. It's not easy to be treated like a secondary investigator, to not be fully accepted on the investigative team.
            "My guess is that these other crimes or things they witnessed have some kind of importance to him, that that is his gratification. So we're looking at the wrong thing here. His personal touch lies not in these deaths but in some other event. That's why he can handle so detached and professional. But he's sorry nonetheless, if he had thought there was another way, he would've done it."
            She's suddenly silent, a bit impressed by everything she's just been telling me. I look at her and give her my most encouraging face.
            "You know, I think we should tell agents Mulder and Scully. It might help them with their profile."
            "You think they would listen to us," she says with a voice dripping with disbelieve. 
            "Look they may not want us here. They may think we're just rookies, fresh from Quantico, but I don't think they're stupid enough to not listen to us when you might have something to help the case, to help the people involved."
            "I guess you're right," she says, still a bit hesitant, but I've already gotten up to grab our coats. When I turn I see that her smile has reached her eyes again.
    

~ 
    
    
            I stare at the pictures of the crime scenes, but I'm not getting anything. It's hard, this case. There's no connection, not only between the cases, but neither with the perpetrator. He killed them and left, no leaving any signs of his presence or of what the victims meant to him. 
            Except "Sorry".
            But what does it mean. I don't know and it's killing me. For the last two hours, after Scully and I said goodnight I've been sitting on my bed, eyes wide open, legs crossed, rocking back and forward, like this childlike movement can clear my mind and give me peace. But instead I drift off. My mind seems to want to think about everything except the most important matter at hand. 
            Rocking is an intriguing motion. It's back and forth over and over again, the angle and the time in which I make it forming a sinusoid. The speed of the movement changes every moment at the smallest interval of time. Having it's maximum when I'm in the position that represents motionless sitting for me - my head on the axis of my body, just sitting - and a moment of inertia in the positions that requires most effort - my head bending over my knees or falling back. I know this. The force is the most powerful when the pendulum's not moving, when it's the farthest from its equilibrium, when earth is pulling it back into its possession, like it's pulling at me. Maybe that's what I'm trying to prevent by rocking, avoiding the earth's grasp, avoiding being swallowed, being reduced to mere molecules, atoms even. 
            That's the problem I've always had with science. It explains the mind as nothing but jumping electrons, little surges of power shooting through your body, which means that after you've died, the electrons scatter over the earth to be used in countless other things without any memory of who they used to belong to, no, who they used to be. Because what am I, but a collection of electrons and atoms. I am the same as everything, build from the same substances. The same as them, as him. So what, according to science makes me different? The way the electrons work together? But they have no memory, no knowledge and they are all the same. How can things that are equal make such different things? I remember someone telling me, maybe Scully, I'm not sure, that you should see it as Lego. All blocks are the same, but together they can make an infinite number of things. 
            I'm wandering again.
            I've got to try and keep focused, but my mind drifts off again into endless labyrinths of thoughts. But then neither the case nor the wanderings of my subconscious created to distract myself from it, close off any thoughts I might have had. Instead it's the knocking on the door that disturbs me.
            I get up to let Scully in, while wondering what she's still doing up so late and what would bring her to my room. But when I open the door not my old partner, but the two new ones are standing there. They both look a bit fuzzy. They've probably spend a little too much time behind a bar. Fitzgerald has an excited air over him while Stradford seems a bit shy.
            "Uhm...Agent Mulder. We're sorry too interrupt you this late, but we both felt this couldn't wait until tomorrow."
            I motion for them too come in and I start to sit on my bed when I notice Stradford's penetrating look, so I quickly put a T-shirt on. I don't do that with Scully anymore. They're both still standing. She's nervously fumbling with her fingers and he is tapping his shoe on the floor way too quick for it to be natural. What's wrong? Is what they have to say so important, or do I make them nervous. Although my ego likes to think I have as much influence to make the latter be true, my heart says that there are already too much people who get nervous when I'm around and I'd like people to like me for once.
            "What's up?"
            That sounds desperate even to my own ears. After 40, trying to be popular is just plain pathetic, but it seems to relax Fitzgerald enough to answer me without his voice breaking.
            "Well, Jennifer and I were talking about the case, actually one aspect of it, namely the note and she said something that rang very true to me, so we figured you might wanna hear it too. But I think she can explain it better."
            Stradford is now blushing. When we met I saw how she wanted to appear confident to hide her insecurities about working on this case, but I wouldn't have thought her capable of actually blushing over it. 
            "Well, spill it."
            She looks up and coughs. For a moment, I think she will just brush it off as something unimportant because she's ashamed to tell me, but them she gathers the strength and starts to speak.
            "At dinner we talked a bit about what the word 'sorry' on the note could mean, but we didn't discuss what the mere fact that there was a note could mean. And well, talking to Fitzgerald just now, I told him my theory about it and he thought it could be right on. `Cause well I figured he leaves it there to explain why he kills. And I think the reason is that the victims were in his way. Maybe they saw something they weren't supposed to see and that's why he killed them. Because they were witnesses, because he wants to cover up something else. Maybe..."
            Her voice begins to have an excited tone to it, she is starting to warm up.
            "Maybe this is someone that I don't know, for example runs a child pornography ring. That is where he gets his gratification from. When the victims found out, he had to kill them, though he wishes it could've been different. I mean, I know this is a bad example, but I just hope you see what I mean and you can do..."
            I cough and she stops, not wanting to meet my eyes, suddenly ashamed of letting herself go like that. I feel sorry for her.
            "You know, I think that's a really good thought. You really helped me on my profile."
            She looks absurdly proud because of the pat on the shoulder I just gave her. The confident woman we met at the airport has been transformed into a little puppy trying to please so it will get some attention. Amazing.
            "You and agent Fitzgerald should look into this tomorrow. See if you can find any crimes that might be related to this."
            They look both so pleased it is hard for me not too laugh. They wait for something more to come from me and when there doesn't, they say goodnight and leave as fast as they can. I grin again and make my way to bed, suddenly feeling very tired. And I sleep.
    

Chapter 5 
    
    
            Tring tring.
            I turn around.
            Tring tring.
            Pillow over my head.
            Tring tring.
            "What!"
            "Oh right, thank you for calling."
            "Yeah...thank you."
            "Right, bye."
            I think the boy on the phone was the same as the pimply teenager that served us breakfast yesterday morning. He'll probably spit in it now because I yelled at him. I forgot I asked them to wake me, because I didn't take my alarm with me. (Actually I broke it last time it disturbed me in a very well deserved and peaceful sleep, but don't tell Scully.) I should ask her for her spare one. She always packs more than she needs, probably because she knows I pack less than I need, except when it comes to clothes. She insists she's never seen any man pack that much clothes. I just like to travel prepared. When it comes to dressing, that is.
            I choose one of my suits for breakfast and I feel like offending people with a horrendous tie, so I pick out one with little brightly colored children bikes on it. I don't even know how I got it. I don't remember buying it so it was probably a present from either Langly or Frohike. Their taste in ties is even worse than mine. Well for them it's not as bad, they don't ever wear ties. I have to endure the laughs at work, though I maybe bring it on myself. I have many days when I feel like offending people. Also, I'm never completely sure that it's just the ties that causes the laughter.
            Today is the day. Another murder and now we have to stop him. I do. Which means I have to start my profile. This is always the hardest for me. It's something I'm very ambiguous about. On one hand I'm very proud of my ability to crawl around in someone else's head. It's something that distinguishes me from the others. Something I do better and they damn well know it, partly because I do my very best to show them at every opportunity I get. You've got to have an ego, right.
            On the other hand profiling scares the living shit out of me. Why am I so good at it? Why can I understand the mind of a killer, of a psychopath? The answer is something I don't want to think about. Something I normally hide deep in my subconscious. It's a primal fear. Because isn't it basic psychology that you see in other people what is in yourself too? I fear I'm like them. That I too could one day snap and do the most disgusting things, unable to stop myself, trapped by my own will. Each time I profile I see more and more familiar patterns in the minds of the inhuman humans. And each time those patterns inside of me grow stronger, twisting what my eyes have seen, what my mind knows. Beaten into different shapes until the patterns in me resemble those in them and I will become them. That's what I fear.
            For now, I can postpone it with a huge breakfast. I try not to think about the teenage boy. When I order, I can just feel Scully's disapproving glance. Luckily Fitzgerald follows my lead, which diverts her attention for a while. She is tensed too, knowing that I'll start today. I want to talk to her about this, but not in front of Stradford and Fitzgerald. They don't need to know my weaknesses. We finish breakfast in silence, only interrupted by a few strained attempts from the other two to strike up a conversation. After a while they thankfully give up, and when I finish last, we look at each other and she tells them to meet us in 30 minutes in the lobby. Then she takes my hand and leads me to her room. I pause to think about the significance of this. She doesn't usually touch me if it's not necessary, meaning if I'm not in any physical or mental distress. But I guess, I am in either physical or mental distress quite often, so I don't know if that's relevant. Or maybe it is, which would mean she probably thinks I'm in distress right now. And that's not such a strange thought. After all, I'm supposed to start something today that we both really dread.
            My mind is wandering. It does that a lot when I am supposed to do other things. I shake my head, as if that will shake my thoughts off like they are drops of water, clinging to my face. Scully looks at me, wondering, and I smile reassuringly. She stands in front of me now, her hand playing with my tie and a small smile shortly appearing on her face. I scowl myself for being excited by this touch.
            "How are you?" she asks.
            "I'm fine." 
            She flinches at this automatic response that has so much more meaning to us, than to anyone else. Like "sorry" to the killer.
            "I mean, I am okay. I'm not looking forward to it, but I think I can do it."
            "You know, I'm dreading it too, don't you?"
            I nod, but it doesn't seem to convince her, for she looks at me inquiring.
            "I know you dread it, Scully, I do. But I don't want you to, I don't want you to worry about me. I need you to be a doctor, an investigator and my partner in the FBI right now. We need to catch this killer."
            "Mulder, I'm here for you, if you need me to be more than that. You can always come to me, you can always share your fears with me."
            She grabs my hand again and squeezes it.
            "I'm your friend, Mulder. Always."
            You're so much more than that, Scully.
            "Thank you," I say as I put my arms around her.
            "I love you," I think as I hold her.
    

~ 
    
    
            When I remember my time at the VCS, I'm still surprised how I got through. I haven't even started my profile and already I'm scared out of my mind, to think I used to do this fulltime... I guess the human mind is more resourceful and stronger than anyone can imagine. Still I'm quite aware of its limitations, and my limitations when it comes to profiling. 
            My body and mind have gone completely out of sync and I know the feeling. They're dancing the dance of exhaustion together, never making the moves at the same time, so that I'm awake one way or another. Thoughts are hunting me, I feel like I've forgotten something and it's on the tip of my tongue, but I can't figure it out. When I drift off, I know the answers in my dreams, but when I awake to write them down I don't remember and I know I won't get any peace of mind until I've figured out the why, how and most importantly the what. But I'm scared to go there again, I want to postpone the inevitable.
            Sometimes it seems like I wake up, like I'm my old self again. But for most of the time, I'm nothing, not a person, not me, just nothing trying to become something again, through someone else's thought. The few moments I still feel like myself become rarer and rarer and when they come it worries me what I see. I'm sitting on the huge bed meant for two people. Normally it would depress me that again I will be sleeping alone. That might have had something to do with my not having a bed for a long time, though that also inhibited me in bringing someone home. Maybe later on that was the point. Right now the bed is not empty, it is strewn with papers. Files on the victims, pictures of the crime scenes and numerous pieces of paper with notes scrawled onto them. They are my company for the day and the night to follow. They are what will occupy my mind. The independent thoughts are not coming together yet, though, I can't seem to grasp them. I take the piece of paper with my latest notes, the beginnings of a profile and start to write again.
            The murders don't seem to be ritualistic, there are no indications of some sort of protocol followed. Also the victims and the situations these people were murdered in have too little in common for that. The note saying 'sorry' is in my opinion a vocalization of the perpetrator's feelings towards his act. I feel it's an apology with a 'but' hidden inside. Something like "Sorry, but this was the only way". The murders appear to have taken place, because of some necessity to the killer, not because of the act itself. The way in which these people died implicates that the killer used his methods, because it's the most effective way to get the people 'out of the way'. The question for me is why. How did these people connect to the perpetrator that made it necessary for him to kill them? 
            Agent Stradford and agent Fitzgerald also came forward with the idea that these people might have been witnesses to some other crime or crimes, like agent Scully did before that. That does seem the most likely solution. There is absolutely no reason to suspect that these people were killed because of personal reasons. The murders are clearly related, as becomes clear by the note that was found. The deaths are clear cut, with the most intriguing feature being the lack of evidence and the notes. For me this points to an emotional detachment of the killer that makes it possible for him to perform these murders very rationally, so he doesn't leave any traces..
            I would say the perpetrator is probably male, because he must have had some weight over the victims to shoot them the way he did, without leaving finger prints or any other traces. I would also say he's in his late forties, early fifties, an established man, who can't afford to be caught doing something illegal. This also has me believing he's a strong family-man, married, perhaps children, which he doesn't want to hurt at any cost. He would need to have an above-average IQ, very intelligent and educated, to know how to leave clean crime scenes. He's average-looking, won't stand out in a crowd, that's why it's been impossible so far to find any witnesses. He lives in the Chicago area, since that's where all of his victims have been found. He doesn't kill to show he can, the word `sorry' tells me that much. More likely he feels he has no other choice, no other way. Agent Stradford and agent Fitzgerald's theory might help us in this. These people were in the way of something he had to do. I think he believes his actions are justified by something greater than him. 
            What is this `other thing'? I think we're looking for a perpetrator who has a goal in his life that takes precedence over everything else. He feels it justifies breaking the law, though it's not something he likes to do. This goal is something personal, or borne out of a personal affair, like a traumatic experience in the past. It could very well have something to do with his wife or maybe his children. His family values are strong enough for that. There are too many question marks to come up with a definitive profile of the perpetrator. First, a relationship between these murders and some other event must be established, before the motivation of the killer can be analyzed further and in more depth. We will use police databases for this. If we don't find a connection, which is very likely since there does not appear to be a connection between the victims and it does not have to be a crime and the time span can be very irregular, we will have to focus on finding someone who matches the few characteristics I have written down so far: Male, in his forties of fifties, established, married, perhaps with children, a high IQ, well-educated, average-looking and living in the Chicago area. These characteristics are unfortunately very broad and it will be next to impossible to relate someone to these crimes based only on this information.
    

~ 
    
    
            We went to the police station this morning without Mulder. Agent Scully told us he had started his profile and that he preferred to do that by himself, in his hotel room, so we left without him. John and I've been assigned to a computer by Colton to review and compare some notes on family members of the victims and possible witnesses and to write are reports on them. A tedious job and a not very useful one either, since it has already been established that there is absolutely nothing to be found. I think we just got it, so we are out of their way. He ordered three cops to go out and talk to people, but we're stuck here. He probably didn't think us capable.
            I'm looking at agent Scully who is talking to Colton right now. She looks reserved, very different from how she is with Mulder and still different from how she is around us. I wonder if agent Mulder told her about last night. Probably, they seem to discuss everything, though never when we're around. I reprimand myself for being so bitter. Agent Mulder said my theory could be very useful in his profile, and though part of me still wonders if he just said that to get rid of me, I'm still proud. I was also surprised by how John handled it. He gave me all the credit I deserved, didn't try to pass the theory off as his or even ours. I know most of my contemporaries, or even my so-called friends, wouldn't have handled that as courteous as he did. Maybe my first impression was off, maybe he isn't the same like everyone else. I could actually see myself having fun with him. I put my eyes back on the notes in front me, but secretly I find myself wandering to thoughts of John and I being like them. So close, so perfectly in sync. I sigh with longing.
            I look up again, just in time to see agent Scully walk away from Colton, who looks rather angry and disappointed. I'm guessing she's holding back on what's going on with Mulder. I suddenly realize the tension between the three of them must be because of her. The electric atmosphere in that room, during our first meeting was male rivalry. It was Mulder and Colton showing her who was more worthy. Suddenly I feel sorry for Colton. He is no competition, he was never even in the race. I turn to John, who looks equally bored by this assignment to share this little theory. No harm in a little gossip about the interpersonal relationships at work here.
            John smiles at my remark.
            "You know what that means, doesn't it?" he whispers to me.
            "What?"
            "If agent Mulder feels the need to compete with agent Colton, even though it is more than obvious that she isn't interested in him, then Mulder must have some interest in her, don't you think."
            I nod, he has a point there. 
            Suddenly I hear agent Scully's voice behind me and my heart skips a beat, so full of fear is it that she overheard us. 
            "How are you doing on your assignment, agents?" she asks friendly. Friendly enough not to have?
    "We're getting on with it," John answers unconvincingly. 
            "I figured as much," she smiles. "Agent Mulder told about your theory, Jennifer and I have to admit, you've got a point. I thought about liquidations of some sort as well, but not because they were witnesses, or because what they were witnessing is the killer's gratification."
            "Thank you," I reply, not knowing what else to say. I feel myself beaming with pride though.
            "I was wondering, if you aren't too busy with your other assignments, maybe you could look into the thing or event they might have witnessed. See if you can find a link. I know we're waiting for Mulder's profile as well, but you could make a head start maybe."
            We both nod enthusiastically. Anything to keep us off doing what we're doing right now.
            "I'll check up with you later then." 
            When I'm sure she can't hear us, I whisper to John: "Do you think she heard us?"
            "I don't know," he answers.
            "Maybe we shouldn't gossip in the workplace anymore."
            He nods in agreement. "We shouldn't."
    

~ 
    
    
            I see them start with full enthusiasm and I'm starting to like having other people working on the case that I'm responsible for. I'm actually starting to grow on Stradford. My first impression of a shallow girl, chatty, but without tact is not turning out to be the full picture. She appeared confident, annoyingly so, but as I see her working, I see the faade it is. She's desperately trying to win a place for herself in the men's world the FBI still is, and I know from personal experience how hard that is. Women always have to be twice as smart, work twice as hard and do twice as good as men. As I heard Madeleine Albright once say, `there are many mediocre men at the top, and few mediocre women'. She feels that too, I think. The pressure that is on her, the way fellow students at the academy, men, turn against merely because she's not one of them. A strong faade is not something you might have, it's something you desperately need. 
            I always thought I wanted to be at the top, have a great career go high up in the FBI. Until I found out what it took. Call me naive, but I never expected that you have to really screw people over to get there. When I found out, I started to doubt if it was worth that to me. It was to Colton obviously, though I get the feeling he regrets that now. Maybe that's why women are underrepresented in top . They have morals.
            Mulder. Yeah, Mulder is a great example of a man, who didn't play the game like one. He could've gone all the way, if he'd played it smart, but he chose what he liked, and what he believed in over that. I admire him for that so much. Though sometimes I wonder if he could've anyway. Maybe he's too good, too smart. People just don't like it. It makes them feel less. Maybe that's why there are so many mediocre men at the top. Because something more than mediocrity isn't accepted.
            I wonder how Fitzgerald is. It's hard to get him. He's silent most of the time, seems to accept everything for how it is. I wonder if he could screw someone over. I doubt it somehow. He seems a bit different. Determined to get to the top, I don't know, maybe. But he won't get their over other people's backs. He wants to get there by himself. If he thinks that way because he has values to uphold about how you treat people, or if he does it, because he wants to get there on his own, I don't know, but he seems to be honest about everything either way.
    

~ 

She doesn't see me coming, so absorbed is she in the files in front of her. I'm glad she's alone, though it annoys me that Mulder has escaped me by working in the hotel. Nothing to be done about it though. I asked Dana this morning how Mulder was getting on and she refused to share. Their silent refusal of my leadership, though just, is infuriating and her latest disobedience is too much, though I suspect Mulder put her up to it. She isn't the disobedient type. 
    
    
            "Could I have a word with you, agent Scully?" I ask politely, not showing what I'm really feeling. 
            She nods and follows me into my improvised office. Only when I've safely closed the door to prevent witnesses I begin my accuse.
            "I thought we agreed that you could get investigative freedom if you would report to me."
            I wait for her to agree with me, but when she doesn't, I continue anyway.
            "Agent Scully," I stress her last name on purpose to emphasize our solely professional relationship, "I would like to know what agent Mulder is doing exactly and where he is on his profile. We're all waiting for him."
            "I told you before Tom, I'll tell you as soon as I know." 
            I curse my heart as soon as I feel it skip a beat at her intentional use of my first name, just as I've cursed the feelings I've felt every time I saw her during this case.
            "I don't like being kept in the dark. Furthermore, it also jeopardizes the investigation."
            She nods in understanding and starts to leave the room.
            "One more thing agent Scully. You work for me and you're not to override my orders by giving the two youngsters a different assignment from the one I gave them."
            I see she wants to argue this, but unfortunately she thinks it wiser to keep her silence and walks out. I'm left cursing her and wanting her at the same time. Contemplating the possible reasons of her hostile behavior towards me. I can only hope.
    

~ 

I bow over my own work again, and endless review of notes to find the answer, hoping of course it's already in the papers. The attitude of Colton is infuriating. The way Skinner made it seem, we were asked to assist on this case as a favor and now it turns out we have to be at Colton's beck and call. I look at the two youngsters as Colton disdainfully called them. I decide that for once in my life a little disobedience won't hurt and I let them be as they are. Then I sigh and turn back to my files. Two hours later I look up at them again and see that the enthusiasm has disappeared. I get up to stretch my legs and to have a chat. 
    
    
            "How are you getting on?"
            "Mmm, okay I guess, except that we haven't found anything," Fitzgerald answers.
            "There's no link?"
            "Not that we can see. But it's looking for a needle really."
            I look at my watch. "It's getting late. Maybe we should wrap up and leave. We need you rested for tomorrow and Mulder's profile might help with the search. It might make the haystack a bit smaller." 
            I give them a soft smile as I say that. They've been trying really hard.
            "Yeah, we'll finish up," Stradford says.
    

~ 
    
    
            Relieved that the day is over, I go to the rest room before we leave for the hotel. Scully said she would give us a ride, so I walk in a hurry to not keep them waiting. I'm pondering the case not paying much attention to Colton who's looking a bit aggravated on the phone. I'm thinking about how hopeless it all seems. As I pee in the urinary, I can't imagine how we're ever going to solve this case. We came in, asked to assist and I foolishly thought we would find something that was missed. But two days into the case and there is still no new shred of evidence at all. I close my zipper and quickly wash my hands, not drying them. My mother's voice echoes in my head, but I ignore it, like I usually do with her. Colton is still on the phone and I wonder who he's talking to. I close the door behind me and walk towards Jennifer and Scully, when suddenly Colton's voice has me stopping dead in my tracks. 
            "Of course I've been following their orders."
            I throws me off for a moment, though I'm not sure why, but instinct has me bowing to tie my imaginary loose laces. Just as I squat thinking how stupid this reaction is, I hear Colton again.
            "I think agents Mulder and Scully are doing a tremendous job. I have no problem obeying to them."
            (...)
            "Of course I told them. I think they will contact you as soon as possible."
            (...)
            "I'll tell them, sir. I think it just slipped their minds, they've been so busy working on the case and all."
            (...)
            "Yes, thank you sir."
            Apparently the phone conversation is over because I hear Colton slam down the phone followed by a muffled `fuck'. I quickly get up and walk on, pretending not to have heard a thing. Jennifer looks a bit ponderous, but doesn't say anything. I quietly get in the car, confused about the meaning of what I've just heard and the obvious unawareness of Mulder and Scully. Suddenly the case has become even more complicated. 
    

~ 
    
    
            I lie down on my bed and close my eyes for a minute. I really need to go see how Mulder is doing, but I want a moment for myself first. On cases, especially one like this, you are around people all day. With Mulder, it has even perpetrated into my nights and weekends, so time to myself has become even more sparse. He also has the annoying ability to possess my thoughts even when he's not physically around. In every action I can hear Mulder's comments and in everything I see I can feel Mulder sitting next to me commenting on it and I know exactly what he'd say. Maybe it's just me. 
            I love to just close my eyes for a second and think about something completely different. Be myself, by myself. A weekend alone in my apartment, walking around in my pajamas, never getting dressed, vacuum in just my underwear, sing out loud to music I would never want anyone to know I listen to, that's real freedom for me. Even with Mulder I have to pretend. Be strong for him, or not be. Keep up a happy face, or just the opposite because it's the best way to let him know he bugs me. 
            I turn around once more and yawn, while I stretch out. An entire bed to myself. How wonderful. I unfortunately can't ban all the sarcasm even out of my own head. I know these are only moments after I've spend a lot of time in the company of others, most of the time I curse the empty spot beside me, feeling like a failure for not living up to the age-old standard and for not being able to.
            Fitzgerald's voice takes charge of my mind. `Then Mulder must have interest in her, don't you think?' I've tried not to think about it all day, how he assesses us based upon a single event and in that confirm suspicions I've long had, though never wanted to think about. Maybe that's why I need a moment alone now, before facing Mulder. I scowl myself for being such a coward.
            Could it be? He feels protective of me. That's a given. But why? As a friend yes, but it's more. He's since long thought of me as his everything, his savior, I know that. But I still find it hard to discern between love, real romantic love and the more platonic family kind of love I usually believe Mulder feels. 
            I sigh and resolve to what I usually do. I shake the thoughts out of my mind by splashing some water in the face, though it's not working as  well as normally, because Fitzgerald's voice still stays in the background. If even he thinks it...
            I dry my face and take another deep sigh. Then I knock on Mulder's door.
            "Hey," I smile when I walk in. Mulder is sitting on his bed amidst an amazingly big pile of files, photos and everything else that could be remotely related to the case. As I walk closer I see the familiar look in his eyes. Tired, haunted. They hurt me. A laptop is lying next to him, closed, so I presume he has either come a long way or hasn't started at all. 
            "You know you look awful, don't you?" I ask.
            "Thanks, you don't look all that terrific either."
            I sit down next to him.
            "How are you getting on?"
            "Finished," he answers.
            "When?", I ask.
            He shrugs.
            "A couple of hours ago, I guess."
            I look him straight in the eye.
            "Needed some time to myself," he answers my unspoken question.
            "What's going to happen now, you think?" 
            "We search, I guess. We hope your profile will help us. It feels like we just need to be looking in the right direction, we're missing the point right now."
            I smile to myself. You often feel that way.
            "Then we just have to go looking in other places as well. We'll find the guy, I know it. You'll know where to look. Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, you'll know where to look."
            I see him smile now. The kind of mischievous smile he gets.
            "Why you didn't go into mental coaching is beyond me. You really would look great in one of those guru outfits inspiring stressed out managers would want to jump of a bridge because the fuck up at work and then fuck up at home because they fuck at work with their secretaries." 
            "Thank Mulder, you're so flattering sometimes," I say, though my face is telling a different story. "Maybe you should go to sleep."
            Suddenly the smile disappears from his face. 
            "Stay here with me," he asks with a soft insecure voice I don't hear him use much. Fitzgerald's voice flashes through my head. I can't resist him though, not when he's looking like that.
            "Sure," I say. "Now go brush your teeth."
            He smiles again.
    

~ 
    
    
            I'm sitting in my room contemplating what my next move is going to be. They have to know what I heard Colton say on the phone but somehow it doesn't really seem my place though. Or maybe I just don't want it to be, because I don't want to be the tell-tale here. I want to attribute something to the case, help solve it, not just tell on Colton. This case should be my big breakthrough and I'm not sure how the whole Colton thing fits into it. No one knows I know, no one will be the wiser if I don't tell. This could thoroughly fuck up my career.
            I get up and pull of some trousers, cursing the man I was raised to be. Why do I have to be so fucking honest?
            Feeling a little self-aware about disturbing her at this hour, I knock on agent Scully's door. No answer though and for a moment I'm glad and want to return to my room. But I scowl myself for my cowardice and walk to the adjoining room. After two knocks I hear some stumbling and a surprised Mulder opens the door dressed only in boxer shorts.
            "What's wrong," he asks.
    

"Ehm, nothing really. I just need to discuss something with you." "And this something couldn't wait until the morning?" It could have I guess, but I rather have it out of the way. I suddenly doubt again if this is the right thing to do. But Mulder invites me in and sits on his bed. To my enormous surprise it's not empty, someone else is lying in it as well. He sees I notice and look slightly embarrassed. "So, what's so important?" he asks, quickly diverting my attention. It takes a couple of seconds for me to regain my composure. I never thought... Then I focus on the task at hand again. "I ehm..." I decide the easiest way is the fastest. Like ripping of a Band-Aid. "Well, this afternoon when we left the station, I accidentally overheard a phone conversation between agent Colton and someone else he called Sir. He said some things. For example that he is having no problem obeying to you." I pause and I see the person under the blankets stir and to my amazement I see agent Scully's red hair appear from under the blankets. Despite what Jennifer and I discussed this afternoon, I didn't think it was agent Scully lying in his bed. The implications of it are all too obvious. "And you think..."  
I takes a moment for me to realize what I am supposed to be thinking about. "I think that he let you on. That he isn't really in charge. I mean, it's just from that short conversation, but I thought you should know." "What's going on?" agent Scully's soft voice interjects. When she sees me she flushes. She too is embarrassed about the whole situation. Mulder repeats.  
She seems to be contemplating what he tells her and several looks are exchanged between them. Then Mulder speaks to me again. "Thank you for telling us. You made the right decision." "Will you...", I begin.  
"...tell him it was you that told me?" he finishes for me. "I don't know. I won't if I don't have to." I smile grateful, then get up. I get the distinct feeling I'm not wanted here anymore. 

Chapter 6 

When I woke up, Mulder had already gone, so I went on to the police station. I arrive there just after 9 am to see he's already there and surrounded by various people. Detective Johnson, Fitzgerald and Stradford, and a young man that I don't know, yet. I walk up to them and when Mulder sees me, he smiles and reaches out his hand to him. 
    
    
            "This is Don Fabrizio, he is the police crime-database supervisor. He will help us in trying to find a link with other crimes."
            Fabrizio nods to me, and I give him a small smile in acknowledgement. He walks into a small room to the right side of the police station, where about 6 computers are sitting on various desks. Just before we enter the room with everyone else, I take Mulder's hand to hold him back. 
            "You didn't wake me."
            "You were sleeping so deep, I thought you could use the rest. Besides, one person more or less doesn't matter that much. You could have stayed in a bit longer."
            I look at him sternly.
            "Not that I don't appreciate you qualities, I mean, you are of course very valuable and your presence would definitely make a difference, but at this time..."
            He stops when he sees the smile on my face.
            "It's alright," I reassure him. "We need to call Skinner."
            "I know," and his face tells me he's looking forward to it as little as I am.
            "You think he heard it right?", I ask. We talked about this last night and I asked him the question then, but he didn't give me a clear answer.
            "I find it hard to believe even Colton would do something like that."
            I nod. Me too. "I'll find out then."
            "Thanks," he smiles.
            "So, what's going on, Mulder?"
            He sighs, and I see the wrinkles in his face. They have become deeper and it's not just time that's causing it.
            "I don't know. I really hope something will come out of this, it all seems so hopeless. It's been quite a while since I had that with a case. For some reason I'm more emotionally involved this time."
            It strange that he's saying that now. I was just thinking that yesterday, how this case gets to me, for some reason. I nod.
            He starts to say something, but suddenly stops, exhales and turns away. I still want to know what he wanted to say, but for some reason I leave it alone and walk up to the computers with him. When he feels me standing next to me, he hands me some papers. It's his profile.
            "So, what exactly are we looking for agent Mulder?" Fabrizio asks.
            Mulder rubs his head and starts to explain tot Fabrizio what he is hoping to find. In the mean while Fabrizio is typing like crazy. My mind drifts off and I start to think about the case again. Fitzgerald and Stradford might have a point with their cover-up theory. Mulder, of course, has to give some sort of strange twist to it. I haven't found out what it is just that, but there's no doubt in my mind that I'll find out soon enough. Vaguely I hear Stradford, Fitzgerald and Mulder fire options at Fabrizio and I hear his fingers hitting the keyboard, trying to keep up with them. But no pattern comes up. After a while the constant ticking, that was the background music to my daydreaming, starts to slow down and it pulls me back to earth. After a couple of hours Fabrizio speaks up.
            "Agent Mulder, you sure about this. I mean, I ain't finding much ya know."
            "Just keep looking."
    

~ 

We go for a coffee while agent Mulder and Scully keep working behind the computer. I'm glad for the break, since I've been feeling really useless all morning. John seems glad to and he quickly walks away to get some coffee for us. We're barely sitting in the conference room when he starts to talk. "I know we decided it would be better not to gossip in the workplace, but you'll kill me if I don't tell you this." Curiously I look at him. It seems out of character somehow for him to be so excited. "What's going on?" I ask, unable to keep lights of excitement out of my eyes. He starts by telling me what he overheard Colton saying. "That explains some things, huh."  
I nod. I definitively does. I can't believe he actually lied to them about it. "There`s more. I decided to tell Mulder and Scully last night and I first knocked on Scully's door, but there was no answer. When I went to Mulder's he did open the door, and someone was sleeping in Mulder's bed." "You mean there was someone else in his bed?" This is definitively good gossip. Though I am very surprised that there was someone else in his bed. It's a bit disappointing really. "So I guess we were wrong with our little theory." "No no, it was agent Scully."  
I know my eyes are wide open in disbelief right now. "Agent Scully's was sleeping in agent Mulder's bed?" "They were both sleeping in that bed," he clarifies. "I would never have thought that. I mean, we both had the idea there was some sexual tension of some kind between them, but I always assumed it was of the unresolved kind." "So did I."  
"So you think...?"  
"I don't know what to think. I mean, they weren't exactly doing anything, but if they're sleeping in the same bed... I couldn't believe it at first either. I thought it was someone else too." "Pff...you must have been embarrassed when you walked in." He nods.  
"But how did they react to the news of Colton pretending to be in charge when he isn't." "They didn't really. They thanked me for telling them and that was it. I guess they wanted to confer together how to proceed." "I guess..." I fall silent. Then, after a few minutes: "Sleeping in the same bed..." "I know." 

~ 

We keep looking, but we aren't finding much. It's difficult searching if you don't know what you're looking for. After a while Scully touches my back to indicate she wants a word with me. I turn away from Fabrizio to give us some privacy. "He heard right."  
"You...?"  
She nods. "He told me he was surprised that we were doing all our communication through Colton and if we want to stay in touch more." I feel anger replacing the disbelief I felt before. "Where is Colton?" I demand loudly. One of the police officers points to a far corner. I storm over to him and I feel Scully following me, probably wanting to prevent me from doing something stupid. I don't care though. "You are lower than low, aren't you?"  
Colton gives me a surprised look, like he doesn't know what I'm talking about. "We just talked to Skinner."  
I begins to dawn to him, because his normal cocky look makes place for one of pure fear. "You took advantage of our ignorance. I could kick you out of the FBI for this," I say angrily. I feel Scully's hand on my shoulder, indicating me to look around. When I see the entire police station staring at us, I understand. She points towards a more private area and we go in, Colton gladly following us. When he has closed the door behind him, he starts to defend himself. "I'm not sure I follow what you're talking about, agent Mulder." His faade of innocence infuriates me further. "The case, you asshole. You let us believe you were still in charge, that we report to you. You report to us. You screwed us over." He loses his composure for a moment, pure fear on his face. Then he regains it. "I really don't know what you're talking about." "I don't believe you for even a second." "Let me get clear what you are saying. Skinner told you the SAC on this case is you, not me?" I nod disdainfully.  
"How come you didn't know? I mean Skinner must have told you." I think about it for a second. I thought about this and my best guess is he forgot, or assumed I already knew. Or maybe that he assumed Colton would fill us in. "He forgot to mention it. We were unaware. You should have told us." "What makes you think I knew."  
I hesitate to tell him about the conversation Fitzgerald overheard. He is lying through his teeth here. He interprets my silence in the wrong way. "Exactly. I got mixed orders. When you didn't take charge immediately, I assumed I was still in charge. Stupid and naive maybe, but an honest mistake." "I know you're lying," I say angrily, but before I can continue Scully pulls me apart from him. "He's lying Scully. We know he is," I hiss. She nods in agreement. "But what do you want to do about it. Do we want to throw him out of the FBI because of it?" I resist the urge to nod enthusiastically. "What's the use in that? It will be a nuisance, all the paperwork and meetings we'll have to go through and it will probably end in them telling us it was a mistake from both sides. How likely do you think it is, they'll take our side in this. Plus, we would have to tell everyone Fitzgerald is the one who brought this up. It would definitively ruin his career." It infuriates me how right she is. In the end it will only have cost us a lot of time and effort and a reputation as tell-tales. I recompose myself and walk up to Colton. "Rereading the files would be a good idea, Colton." And with that both of us leave him standing flabbergasted and angry. 

~ 

We stand in front of the computer again. The reality of what just happened sinking in. The complication of Colton's lying and cheating is something we can't use of this case. I turn my attention back to the computer. It's taken care of now. An while passes. The ticking keeps getting slower and slower as time progresses. Then, when another hour has passed, Mulder and Fabrizio decide to go for a coffee - Stradford and Fitzgerald already gave up and went for one a while back. We join them in the conference room where coffee that is too old to drink, awaits us. Mulder is quiet, while the others are almost happily murmuring theories about. I too, though quietly, start contemplating the case. I read Mulder's profile quickly to see what theories he has come up with. Then I let my mind wander freely. 
    
    
            If the perpetrator kills because these people were in his way when he did something they weren't supposed to see, why didn't they go to the police? I can think of only two reasons: either they didn't realize hat they witnessed was illegal and that's why they didn't tell anyone. But if this is the case they why were they killed. I mean, if they weren't telling anyway because they didn't know there was something to tell, then they didn't have to die to keep them from telling. Or maybe the killer anticipated that after a while, maybe because it was in the media or something they would realize there was something to tell. The other possibility is obvious. The killer killed them right after they witnessed whatever they witnessed. But we would have found that link, that's exactly what we've been looking for. So it could only be that whatever they witnessed didn't seem illegal at first, which would make sense why we can't find anything in the computer. Unless... I shake the thought of. I'm starting to think way too much like Mulder. An annoying little voice in the back of my mind reminds me that he does have a point every once in a while. I decide to give the thought a chance, only because it would please Mulder so much if I were to tell him. And I'm a sucker for that smile. 
            So the third possibility is that the victims hadn't witnessed anything...yet. What if they were going to witness something, something that hadn't happened yet? And what if the killer somehow knew they were going to witness that and needed them out of the way before that. It was a possibility and it might be worth checking out. So we were looking at something that had taken place a certain time after these killings.
            "Scully?"
            I said it out loud, because everyone at the table is looking my way now. I decide to swallow my pride and say it anyway.
            "I was just thinking and I came to the conclusion that there can be only two reasons for killing the victims, if this theory of agents Stradford and Fitzgerald is correct. Either the victims witnessed something that at the time they didn't realize it was illegal, and then we're never going to find out what it is. Or the killer knew they would witness something and killed them beforehand to prevent that. And that's something we can find out with Fabrizio's help."
            Mulder looks pensive for a short while and then asks with, what I think, is a hint of that mischievous smile, "But how could he know, Scully? He would have to have insight in their daily activities and since none of the victims are related and some of them had a highly irregular schedule, that would be pretty difficult, don't you think."
            I knew he would ask that.
            "Well, ehm, maybe he followed them, or broke in and looked in their diaries or...." I'm sounding ridiculous and I know it, "or maybe he just knew."
            "Just knew?" he asks with an almost exact replica of what I know to be my Mulder-don't-be-ridiculous-face.
            "Yeah and you can come up with theories how he knew, because I have no idea," I say just a tad defensive.
            His air changes.
            "Well seriously, you might have a point there. Fabrizio, can you help us check that out?"
            We walk back to the computer together and Fabrizio starts his typing again. Lots of different cases pass by on the screen, but nothing links them to ours. 
            "It could be the cases fall out of our jurisdiction..." Fabrizio starts, but Mulder interrupts.
            "Go back, no, another one."
            Fabrizio rests on a case involving cow theft by students as a joke. I look at Mulder, only slightly puzzled. He does these things.
            "Cows, cows," he mumbles. "Milking, milker, milkers, Milker's!"
            I start racking my brain. `Milker's', does sound a bit familiar, but I can't remember why it does, even if my life depended on it.
            "Milker's. Fabrizio, could you look up the address of that place?"
            I know he's on to something. He gets into it. And only Mulder can discover the missing link through something so trivial as a student joke.
            "What are you thinking?" I whisper to him.
            He's looking intensively at the computer where Fabrizio is searching for the requested. 
            "Mmm..."
    

"Mulder?"  
"Hmm, well, I think I read something in the newspaper. A girl's disappearance, I think. I don't remember the details, I glanced over it, looking for the weather forecast." 
    
    
            Of course. That explains everything. Not. Since I've started working with Mulder, I've become really good at cryptograms and anagrams. They are a lot clearer at least than Mulder is.
            The address Fabrizio has found looks familiar as well, though I still can't place it.
            "Can you look up any crimes that happened in or around that address."
            "Sure," Fabrizio mumbles and starts typing again. He looks as puzzled as I am. I glance beside me and I see that the other three have gathered around us, with similar question marks on their faces.
            When a case pops up on the screen and Mulder has had the chance to read through it quickly, he looks up at me with a big aren't-I-the-greatest-smile. When I still look puzzled, he turns back to the computer screen. I quickly scan the article as well. Jaime Robinson, a 19-year-old girl taken from the supermarket Milker's two days ago. Apparently it had been a bit of a fuzz at first, because there were no witnesses and she had ran away from home before. When she didn't return the next day like she had always done before, they began to worry.
            "And there's a link between this case and ours?" Fitzgerald asks.
            I think I hear him sigh and I practically see him thinking how obvious it is. "Milker's is the supermarket Ella Fitzgerald worked at. This girl was kidnapped in that same supermarket." He says it like everyone should just understand after this much clearer explanation. It's staring to dawn on me, but when the rest still looks at him in the same way, he decides to explain in more depth.
            "You, Stradford and Fitzgerald, told me he might have killed these people because they were witnesses to something. I think you are right. I think Ella Jackson was going to be a witness to this girl's, ehm...Jaime Robinson' disappearance."
            "Was going to be?" Fitzgerald and Stradford ask at almost the same time.
            "Well, yeah," he says like it's the absolute most logical thing in the world. "Look at the time of Jaime Robinson' kidnapping. Do you remember the time and date of Ella Jackson's death. They're round and about 48 hours apart, and I bet if we knew the time of Jackson's death more accurately, they would be 48 hours apart down to the minute."
            Stradford and Fitzgerald glance at each other and I know what they are thinking: how everyone at the academy must have been right about Spooky Mulder and his `gifts'. 
            "Stradford, go to Jonhson and ask him to give you a list of the times and dates of the murders. As exact as possible. Fabrizio, look up crimes that happened exactly 48 hours after the murders. Fitzgerald, you go fetch us some food, we're going to be a while. Chinese, would be great."
            He's really getting into it. And I must say I'm beginning to get excited again as well. Though Mulder's theory is far from proven, I have enough experience to know he's right. Not that he's ever going to find out, that would ruin my reputation. I nod my head to signal that I want to talk in private for a minute. We walk to the other side of the room.
            "Mulder, you don't have any prove. This could just as well be a coincident. I don't think we should stop looking into other angles. Also, what's the motive? Why would this guy kill witnesses before he's kidnapping and why would he kidnap people in the first place. And we don't even know how he killed them. I think you're taking to big of a leap here. We should..."
            I trail off. Mulder is not exactly listening. Instead, he's looking over his shoulder watching Fabrizio and his computer screen.
            "Mulder!"
            "Hmm?" he says, disrupted in his staring.
            I shrug, and walk back to the computer. He's going to be right anyway so what's the point.
    
    

~ 
    
    
            I have to admit, I'm excited we can move on again. Finally we found something that could lead us to the perpetrator. We just need to know what connects these women and that should lead us there. Fitzgerald took off for the Chinese, not looking too happy about that particular assignment, and I decided Scully and I should go ahead and interrogate some people on Jaime Robinson' disappearance and other cases to see if there is any connection. The series of disappearances hadn't captured the attention of the police before, most of them were marked individually as run-a-ways, so I am hopeful we'll find a link now, because there hasn't been thorough investigation. So far, the only obvious thing is that they were, or are hopefully, all women. Apart from that, it's the same as with the murder victims: different ages, habits, professions and areas of the city. We left Stradford at the station to wait for Fitzgerald and to see what they can find in terms of a link in the files. Lucky them, they will be eating Chinese. Of course, Scully insisted we first verify my theory by trying to find out whether those dead were indeed supposed to be at the sights of kidnapping. This was easier said than done, though, because for most of the women it wasn't clear where they were kidnapped and for most of those dead, we had no idea where they would be at the approximate time of kidnapping, because we had quite a big time span. Jaime Robinson was an exception. They knew almost for certain that she was kidnapped and the time and date was very accurately determined, so she might be the best place to start. I have a feeling Ella Jackson was supposed to be working that night.
            We arrive there around 5:30 pm and the store is busy, filled with yuppies getting their microwave meals, because they're too busy to cook. The young girl behind the counter tells us curtly that Mr. Callahan, the manager, lives just above it and we should ring his doorbell if we want to know something, `cause she ain't knowing nothing `bout that. And indeed when we ring the doorbell next to the store, a buzz tells us we're being let in.
            "You here to talk about that Robinson girl, or about Jackson?"
            "Special agents Mulder and Scully from the FBI," I reintroduce us. "We were hoping you could answer some questions about Ella Jackson."
            "Sure," he shrugs and beckons us in.
            "We were wondering if you could tell us if Ms Jackson was supposed to work on the two days ago?" Scully asks.
             "Yeah, she was. Why? That's the night the Robinson girl was kidnapped. Do you think there's a connection?"
            "We can't discuss case specifics with you, Mr. Callahan," I say in my sternest voice. He looks impressed.
            "Wait. You don't think I had anything to do with that. I mean, I can see how it looks, with a murder and a kidnapping taking place and all, but I tell you, I have nothing to do with that. It's just a coincidence. That's what it is."
            "We never implied you had anything to do with it Mr. Callahan. But I was wondering,  did you find replacement for Ms Jackson?"
            "Well, obviously I didn't know she wasn't going to show up at all. I just figured she was just late the first hour. Then I thought to myself, she must be ill, so I went and rang up my employees to find someone else, but ehm, no one was available. Just Casey, who's downstairs now, but she couldn't come in until 11 pm, so I was alone in the store that evening. Shame, really, how one tragedy leads to another."
            "What do you mean by that, Mr. Callahan?" Scully asks.
            "Well, if Ella hadn't been killed, that Robinson girl probably wouldn't have been taken. Since I was the only one in the store I worked at the main counter. The girl was sneaked out behind my back. If Ella had been there, she would have worked at the counter behind me and would've surely seen it, if someone had taken a girl out with force..."
            Suddenly the Twin Peaks theme starts playing. I rummage through my pockets to find my cell phone. 
            "Mulder," I say, while I walk away from Scully and Mr. Callahan. 
            "Thank you, Mr. Callahan. You've been very helpful, we appreciate it," I hear Scully say.
            "It's me," I hear someone say.
            "Sorry, who is this?"
            "Jennifer, Jennifer Stradford," she sounds a bit strained.
            "What's going? Have you found a link?"
            "Well no, but ehm, I'm a bit worried about John. He hasn't come back yet and it's been over an hour now."
            She does sound worried.
            "Have you tried his cell phone?"
            "Yeah, I have, and he's not answering."
            "If he doesn't show up in the next 30 minutes, give me a call again. It's probably just really busy at the Chinese place. We're on our way to Derek Livingston's former apartment, to see if we can find out anything about where he as supposed to be."
            "Ok, thanks..."
            I hang up and tell Scully about the call. We'll see when he turns up.
    
    

~ 
    
    
            I saw the excitement happening with envious eyes. This was not how it was supposed to happen. Mulder found it, the link, that much I can gather from the excitement there. He is going to break it, successfully finish it as I'm stuck here doing nothing of worth. I know I can blame it on myself, but in the end they have made this case living hell for me. Mulder's envy of me and Scully's ambiguous attitude, they make it hard for me to function appropriately. With him it's pure dislike, envy. With her it's something else again. Her disobedience she displayed is an indication to something more. Maybe a cry for attention. 
            That knowledge feels good, that they're not as thick as thieves as they appear to be. Also, I like the fact that I'm the one she's asking the attention from. Maybe I can use it to my advantage, but even if I can't, I still don't mind.
    

~ 
    
    
            Derek Livingston's student house looks the same if not worse than the last time I saw it. There must be years of dishes piled up in the kitchen and I'm suddenly feeling very nostalgic about my own student time. We are offered seats in the living room slash kitchen that is definitely lived in. The girl clears the couch of all sorts of junk food cartons with one big swipe to make room for us. Of course, we politely refuse. Standing makes you have more authority.
            "I'm sorry, ehm... what did you say your name was?" I ask.
            "Katie. Richards."
            "We were hoping you or some of your housemates could answer some questions about Derek and his whereabouts, specifically the night two days after he was murdered."
            "Two days after, well I guess he was in the morgue then, wasn't he?" she answers. I grin to myself, and glance at my partner. I like the little know-it-alls the best. 
            "Why do you need to know?"
            "FBI business, ma'am," Scully says in her best stern-Mulder-interpretation. I make a face saying `oh my God, I can't believe it, Scully made a joke', and she give the look in return. I love our little games.
            She sighs and sits down on the just-cleaned couch.
            "Katie, it's important that you tell us, if you have any idea where Derek was supposed to be, two days after he died," I say to her, in a fatherly-concerned tone. Scully's face tells me she doesn't appreciate me hitting on witnesses. I just wish.
            "Pfff... How should I know where Derek was supposed to be? We don't exactly live life from 9 to 5," unlike you, I know she wants to add. She should know.
            "Well, the night Derek died you were all at the same party, right?" She nods. "Wasn't there a party or something two nights later where you were all supposed to go?"
            "Ehm, well, there was a party, but Derek wasn't going."
            "Why not?"
            "I think he was going off to see his girlfriend. She lives about an hour's drive away. That why they talk on the phone for so long."
            Scully's phone rings, and she walks off to answer it.
            "He would see her just day or the night as well?"
            "Just the night I guess. He would've probably slept over, but he had lectures all day so he would have left here...late afternoon, probably."
            "Thank you Katie, you've been a great help to us," I say in my most adorable smile, before I get the chance to realize Scully can't see me, so it's no use. "Do you know when the..." Someone taps on my shoulder.
            "Mulder?" she moves her head indicating that we should talk outside. She looks serious.
            "Katie, thank you again. Tell your housemates they might hear from us."
            I walk outside, following Scully.
            "I just got a call from Detective Johnson. He...ehm. He told me a new body has been found. Ehm..."
            "Again? Well, let's get on the road then, while the trail's still fresh."
            "Mulder... The body... It's Fitzgerald."
            "What, he found it?"
            "No, it's Fitzgerald."
    

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Title: **cogito ergo sum**  
Author: Lisa  
Details: 127k  ·  PG-13  ·  Standalone  ·  03/08/06  ·   Email/Website      
Gossamer Category(Keywords): X-File   [Romance, UST, Friendship, Angst]     
Characters: Mulder, Scully     
Pairings: Mulder/Scully UST, RST   
SPOILERS: Nothing major, but up until season 7   
SUMMARY: A serial killer, someone from the past and a lot of angst push Mulder ans Scully into new places 


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